


Til Stone is Dust

by Chamelaucium



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: ....in Bilbo's eyes hahaha, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Various, Awkward Thorin, Dwalin the cookie monster, Each chapter is an individual story, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Erebor Manor, Fluff, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Thorin is a failboat, Thorin is a walking disaster, Thorin is lost, and so are the boys, author!Bilbo, beard!Bilbo, bilbo is a chugger, both these boys are awkward dummies, cat-sitting, forward!Bilbo, harrassed worker Thorin, i'm not okay BoFA has killed me, kid!Fíli, kid!Kíli, other tags to be added with each update, pedalos and rowing boats, security guard!Thorin, shy Thorin, shy!Bilbo, tennis player!Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:41:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1851682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamelaucium/pseuds/Chamelaucium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em> Until stone is dust and the seas dry up, my love is everlasting</em>.</p><p>A collection of Bagginshield one-shots in various scenarios. See individual chapters for summaries.</p><p><em>Chapter 7</em> - It's not that Thorin is uncharitable, he simply doesn't like being accosted by chuggers on his way to work every morning. <br/>Until one with bronze curls and an arresting smile going by the name of Bilbo Baggins attempts to part him with his money for the greater good, and Thorin can't get rid of it fast enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Cat-sitter

**Author's Note:**

> The result of an overactive imagination and a shipping heart, I have far too many ideas for potential Bagginshield scenarios. So I'm going to post them here as one-shots. Most of them will likely stay that way but if one is particularly popular I wouldn't be averse to expanding it, as it were. :D 
> 
> This probably won't be updated very reguarly, and instead rather sporadically. I hope you like it :3

Bilbo Baggins was never one for romance - perhaps he enjoyed the odd tear-jerker and sometimes dreamt of finding someone to curl up on a sofa with a book with, but for the most part he was perfectly happy. 

Except for the man who lived opposite him. 

It would be alright, if not for the fact that their doors were really rather close together, just on opposite sides of their landing, and Bilbo always seemed to be doing something embarrassing whenever the man appeared from his own flat. Whether it was helping a staggering Bofur home to collapse on his couch one night or tripping over his own feet and dropping his books everywhere, he always came out looking like the most inept fool who ever lived. 

And the man next door was gorgeous, with his raven hair and close cropped beard. His looks were the sort that Bilbo was secretly mad for - not the classic, prim, clean sort like an Austen hero; no, the man was more of a Heathcliff, dark and rugged, brooding and wild and passionate -

At least, he was in Bilbo's imagination. Bilbo didn't even know his name. He'd moved in only a year ago when Mr. Dark and Handsome had apparently been living there for quite some time already. He hadn't even knocked just to say hello, and instead it had been Bilbo who'd been forced to cross the landing with a box of biscuits and the intention of friendly overtures; when a man with tattoos on his bald head and a grim face who most definitely wasn't his next-door neighbour opened it, Bilbo had squeaked and nearly dropped the tin before hastily backing away and hiding in the safety of his own flat. He hadn't tried again.

And so Bilbo existed in this way, secretly entertaining day-dreams about Mr. Next-Door popping over just to say hello, telling Bilbo his name, saying Bilbo's own... Well, maybe he wasn't a Heathcliff. Perhaps he was more of a Mr. Rochester, stand-offish and aloof. That fit him more correctly, Bilbo decided happily. 

And he was so busy wondering if Mr. Dreamboat had children of any sort - the flat Bilbo got brief glimpses of always seemed too clinically clean to be the abode of children, let alone too quiet - that he was quite unprepared for the knock on the door, three sharp raps in quick succession. Startled, he dropped the book and bent to retrieve it, frowning when the pounds on the door were repeated. 

'I'm coming,' he grumbled, knowing full well whoever was at the door wouldn't hear. 'Goodness knows I'm not busy, I'm not doing anything _important_ , so you continue banging on that door like some brutish _troll_ -'

He punctuated the last word as he pulled the door open, then froze at the sight that met him - Mr. Tall Handsome Neighbour, looking - if it were possible - both unimpressed and at the same time desperate. 

'Oh,' Bilbo peeped, embarrassment flooding through him - he'd called him a troll! 'Hello.'

'I need your help,' the other man said, cutting straight to the point without even a greeting, which if it had been anyone else Bilbo would have had quite something to say about it, but currently his brain was too caught up in the fact that his own Mr. Rochester was on the other side of his door requesting his help. It was quite enough to stun a man.

'Help?' he repeated stupidly. He saw the other man's face sharpen as he nodded, the unimpressed look gradually overtaking the desperation and Bilbo quickly pulled himself together before Mr. Anti-hero changed his mind. 'Right, help. What can I do?'

The other man said nothing, only pointed to something Bilbo hadn't noticed before, sitting in front of the man's open front door. Bilbo pointedly curbed his curiosity about the man's front hall and focused on the object - a cat carry-box. He looked at his neighbour curiously.

'It's a cat,' the man said gruffly. Bilbo just about refrained from rolling his eyes.

'I can see that,' he said. 'It's very quiet. Is it alright?'

'He's sulking,' the other man said. 'He doesn't like me and I've got to look after him until my sister gets back.'

'Oh,' Bilbo nodded. 'Can I...?'

At his neighbour's nod Bilbo crossed the short gap of the landing and bent to peer through the gap. Inside was a large cat, his fur a mish-mash of browns and white and reddish undertones, and indeed he seemed to be staring up through the bars, whiskers drooping and a baleful expression on his face. Bilbo couldn't keep the smile that melted onto his face as he looked at the cat; he looked back up at his neighbour and the smile instantly fell from his face at the dark scowl Mr. McBrooding was wearing. Hastily he stood back up, not quite looking at the man.

'Well, um, what's the problem?' he asked. The cat didn't look to be too problematic to him. 

The other man said nothing and merely moved closer to the cat box - and Bilbo - and immediately a fierce hissing emerged from the carrier and the sound of claws scrabbling against the side of the thing. Bilbo knelt down making hushing noises while his neighbour moved back again, rubbing at his temples.

'I can't get him out of that carrier,' he said in clipped tones. 'Once the thing's out he can ignore me as much as he wants but I need him _out_.'

'He's not a _thing_ ,' Bilbo said defensively. 'What's his name?'

The other man seemed to hesitate for a minute but eventually spoke. 'Arkie.'

'Surely the best thing would be to leave the door open and let him come out when he's ready?' Bilbo said, peering back down at the cat. 'He's frightened, that's all.'

The other man shrugged, so Bilbo gestured that he should take the cat carrier inside. The dark-haired man moved forward again to pick it up - and Bilbo certainly did not look at the way his trousers clung very nicely indeed to his shapely behind, not at all - and took it inside. Bilbo was unsure if he was meant to follow or not, so settled for stopping one step past the door, subtly admiring the flat (he was pleased to note that there was at least one very full bookshelf).

Mr. Dreamy set the carrier down and looked at Bilbo, who gestured that he should open the lid - Arkie must have been trying to scratch again because the man pulled a finger away hastily and began sucking on it, and Bilbo remained completely unruffled by that, of course; when he was done he looked at Bilbo again. 

It was Bilbo's turn to shrug. 'Put some food down for him, I guess, and let him come out in his own time. You do have food and water and somewhere for him to use the toilet, don't you?' he asked. 

'Yes,' the other man said defensively. 

'Well then, I'll just be off...' Bilbo started to say, backing out of the flat so he was back on the landing, but a voice made him freeze.

'Thorin.'

'What?' he asked, completely lost. His neighbour was looking at him darkly, though his cheeks looked to be almost pinker than usual.

'Thorin,' the man repeated, this time sounding less angry. 'I... That's my name.'

'Oh,' was all Bilbo could say, blinking stupidly. 'Oh. Thorin. Well, nice to meet you, I'm-'

'Bilbo, I know,' the man - _Thorin_ \- said, and he must be in shadows because Mr. Ancient-Greek-Sculpture would never blush that darkly. 'I - heard your friends, once or twice.'

'Right...' Bilbo said slowly, still reeling from the fact that he now knew Sexy Neighbour's name but also from the fact that Sexy Neighbour had known his name all along. A man could only take so many surprises in one day. 'Well. Just...let me know if you need anything else. Goodbye.'

And with that he turned on his heel and hurried back inside his own door, shutting it firmly behind him. 

***

Bilbo thought that would be the end of it. He heard nothing from Thorin for a few days, not even bumping into him outside as they were previously wont to do, though sometimes as he was locking up he'd hear a fierce meow from Thorin's flat and he assumed Arkie was giving him a hard time.

But then Thorin started knocking on his door in the evenings. 

He was sitting on his sofa with a book when the doorbell rang; surprised and wondering who'd be calling on him at this hour, he got up and opened the door, only to find a rather frazzled-looking Thorin on the other side.

'Um, hello, Thorin,' he said, stumbling over his words as he marvelled how the man could look so good even frazzled and more unkempt than usual. 

'Arkie's not eating,' was all Thorin said, with not even a greeting. So Bilbo dutifully followed him across the landing and into Thorin's flat properly and secretly taking in every detail of it in interest, before helping Thorin get Arkie to eat, resorting to hand-feeding him, which Thorin looked mightily unimpressed with but Bilbo enjoyed himself - Arkie was a very affectionate cat and when he'd finished the food Bilbo had, he proceeded to climb into his lap and settle himself there to be petted.

The next day, Thorin was at the door claiming that Arkie looked ill, which Bilbo checked and decided he was just tired; if he wasn't better then Thorin should take him to the vet's. Not that he was qualified to decide if the cat was ill or not, but he knew taking the cat to the vet's unnecessarily would just traumatise the poor thing.

The next evening Thorin needed help getting Arkie down from on top of a wardrobe, and the evening after that he seemed even more harried than usual as he told Bilbo Arkie was missing. Bilbo immediately complied and rushed over to help Thorin search.

'Does he do this to your sister?' he asked Thorin in exasperation as he peered underneath the sofa Thorin was currently lifting for him.

'No,' Thorin replied, setting it back down carefully once Bilbo had ascertained there was no cat hiding underneath. 'Not that I know of, at least.'

'And yet he does for you,' Bilbo gave a tiny smile, more just a quirk of his lips, as he turned to check the cat wasn't trapped behind the bookshelf. 

'He doesn't like me,' Thorin said, checking the boiler cupboard. 'I told you.'

Bilbo just hummed in agreement as he moved to the kitchen. 

They eventually found him hidden behind the television, yowling at being removed from his warm spot. Bilbo gave him a kiss on his furry forehead to make him feel better before passing him to Thorin, who looked vaguely confused for a minute before setting the cat on the sofa; Arkie immediately jumped down and ran off again.

They were left alone in Thorin's living room for a moment before Bilbo got self-conscious and rubbed at his neck, looking anywhere but at Thorin. 'I won't be here for a couple of days,' he piped up after a pause. Thorin's gaze locked onto his and sharpened. 

'Why?'

'I'm visiting my parents,' he explained, neck itching with heat as he flushed. 'My mother's birthday at the weekend, so I won't be back until next week.'

'Oh.' Thorin said nothing else for a long while. 'Alright.'

'Will you be alright with Arkie?' he asked, suddenly worried about the safety of the cat without him.

'I've survived worse,' Thorin said, a small smile playing on his lips. 

'I meant will he be alright with just you,' Bilbo said, returning the smile; Thorin looked mildly embarrassed for just a moment before replying in the affirmative. Bilbo smiled and headed for the door, going home and packing up what he'd need for his weekend away.

***

It was a nice trip to see his parents - dodging questions about his non-existent love-life aside - but he was certainly glad to get home, arriving late in the evening and just about ready to fall into bed. He wasn't ready for the knock on his door and considered ignoring it, but good manners instilled into him since childhood made him get up and answer it.

'Hello,' Thorin greeted sheepishly. Bilbo didn't say anything, instead just letting him get to the point. 'I know you've just got back, but Arkie - he's very quiet. I don't know if he's ill or not.' Thorin looked so genuinely concerned for the cat and apologetic for disturbing Bilbo that Bilbo knew he'd agree to go and see what was wrong. He didn't think he'd refuse Thorin anything, if he was honest. 

'How long has he been like this?' he asked as he found Arkie draped over the back of the sofa, his ears barely flicking as he and Thorin approached. 

'The entire weekend,' Thorin said. Bilbo stepped forward to go and pet Arkie, standing in front of him and moving to kneel when the cat gave a loud meow and immediately jumped down to land on Bilbo's lap. Bilbo just about managed to catch himself and fell onto the sofa rather than the floor, chuckling as Arkie started treddling at his skin as he turned around and around in a circle before sitting on Bilbo and refusing to move. 

Thorin looked a little shell-shocked and Bilbo was simultaneously pleased Arkie wasn't ill and amused that he'd only - apparently - been missing Bilbo.

'Well,' was all he said. 

'Well indeed,' Thorin said in agreement, rubbing at his neck. Bilbo tickled Arkie behind the ears for a bit before trying to move him so he could go home and sleep, but the cat gave a low growl as Bilbo did so and Bilbo gave up. 'I'm sorry,' Thorin said, what face that wasn't hidden by his beard definitely pink, and Bilbo just chuckled. He was too tired to be annoyed, and if he was honest, there were worse things than having a sleeping cat on one's lap.

'It's alright,' he said. 'But I'd kill for a cup of tea,' he said hopefully and Thorin graced him with one of his small smiles Bilbo very rarely saw. 

'It's the least I can do,' he said and Bilbo sighed and leant back as he listened to the sound of Arkie's purring and Thorin's clattering around in the kitchen. His eyes were so heavy; he'd just shut them for a moment...

He was shaken awake gently by Thorin, a mug of hot strong tea in his large hands and a cat still on Bilbo's lap. 

'Here's your tea,' Thorin offered and Bilbo sat up a little, careful not to displace the cat. He must be blushing nine to the dozen - he'd fallen asleep on Thorin's sofa! - but Thorin only smiled before grabbing his own cup and sitting on the end of the sofa. They sat in a relatively companionable silence as they sipped at their respective hot drinks - except for Arkie, who seemed to be dreaming of catching mice, if his paw-twitches were worth anything.

'You can sleep there if you like,' Thorin said quietly, startling Bilbo awake from where he'd been sliding into sleep again. 'Just - just so you don't have to move again-'

'It's alright,' Bilbo said, trying to ignore his own face flaming at the very idea. 'I've got to get back. But thank you for the offer though.'

Thorin merely nodded and said nothing, instead getting up and taking their cups to the kitchen. Bilbo sat up properly and removed Arkie from himself, ignoring the displeased yowl he made and setting him on the sofa, standing up before Arkie could try and jump on him again. He wobbled slightly and a warm hand on his shoulder steadied him; he blushed to know it was Thorin's and tried to keep his imagination in check. 

'Thank you,' he said quickly; he turned to Arkie and gave him a kiss on his ear. 'I'll come back and see you tomorrow,' he said - he did not coo - before quickly turning to Thorin to check he didn't mind. Thorin just looked amused. 

He made it back to his own flat and fell into bed, not even bothering with getting changed.

***

Bilbo did indeed go and see to Arkie's well-being the next day and Thorin told him as he sat on the sofa with Arkie purring contentedly on his lap that the cat would be gone by the end of the week. Bilbo tried not to let his disappointment show; he'd got used to spending time with Thorin, even if it was only because he could control the cat, and once Arkie was gone it'd be back to having Thorin only in his daydreams again. 

Rather than mope he decided to simply enjoy the couple of days he had left with Arkie, even buying him a little catnip mouse he made Thorin promise would go home with him. Thorin seemed more tense in those last days, more frustrated about something than he had been earlier, and Bilbo was uncertain if he could do anything. 

He made a point of being there when Thorin's sister came to take Arkie away - although the cat seemed to have brought out his dramatic side - knocking on Thorin's door a little before she was set to arrive to help Arkie into his carrier and whatnot. 

Thorin's scowl was dark as Bilbo sighed and murmured sweet nothings at the cat to calm him down. Bilbo hovered while Thorin's sister took the carrier, teasing her brother and thanking Bilbo and eventually leaving. Bilbo would have thought Thorin would be happy now he was gone - he made no secret of his distaste for the fellow - but if anything his expression was even stormier. 

'I suppose you're going to go now,' he said to Bilbo, startling him from his thoughts. Bilbo couldn't work out what his face was trying to say.

'I - yes, I suppose so,' he said, blinking; while he and Thorin had always been alone together there'd always been a cat around, so Bilbo had never truly felt as if he were alone with Thorin. Now, however, his insides were squirming and fluttering nervously at being properly alone with him.

'I knew it,' Thorin said, turning away, and Bilbo would have said he sounded almost _glum._

'What, sorry?' he asked, more than a little confused. 

'You only came for the cat,' was Thorin's reply.

'You... You only needed me for the...for Arkie,' Bilbo said, still confused and at a loss as to what Thorin was trying to say. 

'I needed you _here_.' Thorin said nothing else, his shoulders hunched slightly, and suddenly Bilbo understood - though he had to be dreaming, surely, because this couldn't be real...

'Thorin.'

Thorin seemed to hunch in on himself even more. 'Yes.' 

'You...'

Thorin rubbed at his neck, peering over his shoulder at Bilbo and hurriedly looking away again when he saw Bilbo still looking at him. 'I may have tried to use the cat to...to get to you,' he said quietly and Bilbo's heart just about burst from emotion.

'Well,' he said quietly, stepping closer to Thorin and marvelling at his own daring. 'It's a good thing it worked, then.'

Thorin looked almost startled to see Bilbo so close and looked at him closely as if searching for mockery or jesting; in a move that startled himself more than anything, Bilbo reached up on his tiptoes to press a gentle kiss on Thorin's lips, warmth shivering through him. Thorin seemed almost struck dumb at the first meeting of their lips, but after Bilbo drew away he didn't need telling twice and instead leaned down to meet him half way, for a kiss that was spine-tinglingly sweet and full of promise. 

'So you weren't just after my cat,' Thorin said in wonderment and Bilbo had to stifle his laughter. 

'Oh no,' he said, grinning against Thorin's mouth as his very own Mr. Byronic Hero's arms wrapped around him tightly, holding him close. 'I've been after you for ages.'


	2. Most Improper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin doesn't approve of Dis' choice of companion. Something to do with his golden curls, or that cute smile, or perhaps it's the fact the man's a professional _gigolo_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the next story! This idea was one of the first I came up with and one I've been looking forward to writing for ages, and now it's finally ready! I hope you like it :D

'Can't I take you to the party?'

'No, Thorin.'

'Why?' he demanded.

Dís sighed. 'Because, brother-mine, you're about as interesting as dry paint.' She pursed her lips with the effort of trying not to laugh at his disgruntled expression. 'And the purpose of these sorts of things is to have fun.' 

Perhaps she'd gone a bit far there, as Thorin looked hurt at that, so she softened her words with a gentle touch to the arm.

'I'd feel safer if you went with myself or Dwalin,' he said sullenly, folding his arms. 'Even Balin. Just not this bloke you've found off the internet.'

'I did _not_ find him on the internet!' Dís protested. 'My friend hired him the other week and she said he was wonderful.'

'Ah yes, this being a man who sells companionship to wealthy ladies,' Thorin retorted acidly. 'These people, they only ever want your money, or even worse-'

'Thorin,' Dís scolded. 'Stop being ridiculous. I will be fine, so will you and the boys. I'm meeting him at a café before we go so he won't even know where we live. And I'll only be out for a few hours, I promise. Now, let me go and get changed.'

Dís pressed a kiss to his cheek before running upstairs to dress; an hour later she was pressing a kiss to each of the boys' foreheads and a piece of paper into Thorin's hand before repeating the gesture she'd carried out on the boys and then she was off, waving one last time back at Thorin before she disappeared.

When she was gone he looked at the paper and scowled. It was the details of this man she'd hired to be "her beard". Thorin snorted - the man didn't even _have_ a beard.

 _Bilbo Baggins_ , that was his name, and his picture showed one of those people who Thorin detested - small, weak... And undeniably attractive. Not that Thorin thought so, or anything. He could merely appreciate why the fellow was so popular among the female population, with his dimpled cheeks and bronze curls, and that was all.

Thorin left the paper on the kitchen table - only for the contact details, of course - and set about making dinner for the boys. He didn't understand why Dís couldn't have taken Dwalin or Balin to this function, and not resorted to this _gigolo._

The boys didn't seem overly perturbed by their mother being out and that only served to make Thorin more mulish; he considered ringing Dís to make sure she was alright but he refrained, instead texting her with the instruction to _call him_ as soon as she'd had enough or the man tried to do anything. She responded ten minutes later with simply, _he's very nice; I think you'd like him._

That sobered him up a little and he sent back a haughty denial - he had higher standards than _that -_ and immediately set out to ignore all thoughts of the man completely, instead watching some inane cartoon his nephews were absolutely captivated by. When it finished he put them to bed - miraculously with very little fuss - and sat in front of the television for a while, starting to get tetchy when Dís still wasn't home at half past eleven. She'd promised only to be out for a couple of hours and it was getting late now. Before he could get his phone out to ring her he heard tyres on the road outside and peeked out of the window, watching as a car he didn't recognise parked up outside.

Heart in his throat, he made his way to the door and looked through the spyhole; to his immense relief he saw Dís climb out of one side, the _Bilbo_ fellow on the other. He was in a suit, with a red waistcoat that complimented his fair curls - not that Thorin noticed at all - and he took Dís' arm as they walked up to the front door.

'Well, Bilbo, it's been a lovely evening,' Dís was saying as they approached. 'Thank you so much.'

'It's been a privilege to accompany a lady as lovely as you, Ms Durin,' the man replied and Thorin snorted softly at how soft his voice was. Practically a girl's. But at least he was keeping strictly formal, Thorin was pleased to note.

Dís gave a low chuckle as they reached the door and before she could get her key out, Thorin pulled open the door and stood there scowling at Mr Baggins.

'Thorin,' Dís greeted, only thrown for a moment. 'This is Mr Baggins. Bilbo, this is my brother Thorin.' She was smirking at Thorin, who refused to look at her instead narrowed his eyes at Bilbo, who gave a tentative 'hello!' At Thorin's lack of answer he glanced at his feet and shuffled awkwardly. 'You know, he was afraid you were actually some dangerous internet stalker or something,' she giggled - _giggled! -_ at Bilbo and Thorin scowled even more as the other man gave a nervous laugh.

'He hardly looks like he could harm a kitten,' Thorin said flatly. 'My sister would beat you to a pulp if you tried anything, but that's nothing to what I'd do,' he continued, letting his brow darken into a glower, his jaw set tight.

'Thorin,' Dís smacked him on the arm in chastisement. 'Firstly, that's incredibly rude, and secondly, aren't you going to let us in?' She pushed Thorin out of the way as she led Bilbo to the kitchen to make a coffee. 'You can see why I don't take him out much, Bilbo...'

Thorin followed, his eyes never leaving Bilbo the entire time, as Dís made them coffee and they chattered for a little longer, Bilbo occasionally throwing Thorin a wary look every now and again and shuffling uncomfortably. When they'd finished Dís quickly scrawled something on a slip of paper and handed it to Bilbo as she led him back to the door; as they said goodbye Thorin heard her say to him, 'keep in touch, Bilbo, please?'

When the door was shut Dís stared at him with a murderous expression.

' _What was that all about?'_ she hissed, and it would have taken a stronger man than Thorin not to quake at least a little at that tone of voice. He crossed his arms protectively in front of him.

'I don't like him.'

'How do you know you don't like him?' Thorin was unprepared for that question and he paused, momentarily confused, until he gathered his wits enough to answer. 'There you go, you don't,' Dís said firmly

'He's too familiar with you,' he ploughed on determinedly, refusing to be cowed by Dís' unimpressed look.

'Thorin, I hardly got him to call me Dís once throughout the entire evening,' she said and her expression said she knew he was clutching at straws. He scowled darkly and she smiled gently. 'I'm going to check on the boys now,' she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Thorin went to bed grumpy that night, though now it was all over he supposed he had no cause to be anymore. He was just thankful the man hadn't tried anything, and he was relatively certain he'd managed to scare him off. No rake would have anything to do with his sister if he could help it.

***

Dís said nothing about Bilbo to Thorin the next day, and indeed life seemed to go back to normal. No more parties and talk of plus ones. Thorin knew his sister was a fully capable woman now, perfectly able to look after herself, but to him she was still his little sister, too short to climb the tree after her brothers and kicking up a fuss until they'd relent and help her up. Still needing protecting.

Sometimes Thorin would see her grinning at something on her phone, trying to hide her amusement, but she said nothing and he didn't ask, preferring not to know what trouble she was causing now (at least then he could claim complete innocence in the matter).

But then it was time for the Erebor Industries annual ball and Thorin found himself having to talk about suits and outfits and, inevitably, who he'd be taking as his plus one.

He thought Dís would kick up a fuss and protest, but she agreed readily enough to accompany Thorin. He'd need cheering up, she grinned as he stared morosely at the sharp, crisp new suit he'd have to wear. He liked suits, but not _occasion_ suits. At least he rather liked the deep wine coloured cravat Dís had chosen for him, saying it brought out the blue in his eyes perfectly. He didn't see it, but he took her word for it.

'Who else is coming this year?' she asked him one evening. She was busy making coffee while he washed up after dinner - the boys having found their remarkable talent at breaking appliances extended to dishwashers too, this time by trying to stuff as many marbles as they could through the drain.

'Everyone,' he said glumly. "I had to invite Thranduil and a few of his _associates,_ " he mimicked Thranduil's clipped tone and Dís chuckled. "Plus all the regulars.'

"It's a party, Thorin, not a funeral,' she said, trying to stifle a laugh. 'You are allowed to look happy, you know. It'll be fun.'

'I wish it _was_ a funeral,' Thorin grumbled. 'I wish it was Thranduil's funeral.' Dís rewarded his petulance with a quick smack on the arm and a raised eyebrow, and Thorin rubbed it resentfully.

***

Eventually (though all too soon, in Thorin's opinion) it was the night of the ball and Dís must have spent a good half an hour making sure his hair was perfectly combed and tied back, his beard neatly trimmed.

This is just unnecessary,' he complained, but she told him to shut up and asked Kíli to run and fetch her fine-toothed comb.

Finally they left, after what seemed like a lot of fussing even for Dís as she checked her phone a lot before making the boys promise to be good for the baby-sitter. Thorin drove them in the car and could feel Dís practically thrumming with excitement beside him. He hated functions and as soon as they were inside, Dís clutching gracefully at his arm, he greeted the various clients and managers and share-holders politely, making small talk, before disentangling himself from Dís and heading over to skulk by the drinks tables before Thranduil saw him.

He was hiding in a particularly shadowy spot when he was nearly startled out of his skin by a slightly nervous sounding voice beside him.

'Hullo,' it said and he turned to find Bilbo - that skirt-chasing gigolo! - there, looking rather harried. 'Do you mind if I join you for a bit?' Without waiting for an answer he tucked himself behind Thorin in the deepest shadows, letting out a sigh of relief after a while and stepping back out. His cheeks were pink as he fumbled over his words, an apology for disturbing him and mumbled thanks.

'Who were you hiding from?' Thorin asked, interrupting his stream of mumbling.

'The lady who hired me for tonight,' Bilbo muttered, not looking at Thorin. He appeared to have guessed Thorin's distaste for his... _profession._ 'She's...lovely, but demanding. I think she must have introduced me to twenty people in the last ten minutes alone.' He wiped a hand across his brow, and Thorin took pity on him.

'Let me get you a drink,' he said, surprising himself. 'I think you could do with one.'

'Thank you,' Bilbo nodded gratefully and Thorin led him round to the front of the table, pouring two glasses of the funny punch everyone insisted was vital at these functions. He froze as he turned to hand Bilbo the glass, the light falling on the other man and revealing that the waistcoat he was wearing was exactly the same shade as Thorin's cravat. Bilbo seemed to realise it too, his eyes widening a fraction before his cheeks started to redden.

He started mumbling things again, this time at a higher pitch and it reminded Thorin of some sort of mortified mouse. He heard the words 'an accident', 'not on purpose', 'coincidence' uttered before he thrust the glass into the other man's hand, startling him into silence, as he felt his own neck begin to prickle with heat.

It was a very nice colour, that was all. He could see why Bilbo had chosen it, as it went perfectly with his golden curls that fell so neatly around his round cheeks -

Thorin took a sip of the punch to distract himself, grimacing at the sweet taste. Bilbo wasn't looking at him and was instead focusing furiously on the dark purple liquid in his glass, watching the fruit bob around on the surface. Over on the opposite side of the room, he saw Dís in close conversation with a familiar face. Tauriel, one of Thranduil's assistants. The two were laughing and talking furiously, their eyes darting round the room, and he wondered how he hadn't noticed they'd been close.

Bilbo appeared to have returned to his normal colour when Thorin looked back, much to his relief - he didn't want Bilbo dying of sheer embarrassment on him when in all truthfulness it hardly mattered; and if it did make him a little hot under the collar, it was his business alone. 

'It was my client's idea,' Bilbo said from beside him, jerking Thorin's gaze back to him from where it had been travelling over the other guests. The smaller man still wasn't looking at him and was tapping his punch glass thoughtfully. .

'What was?' Thorin asked distractedly; he'd just seen Dís give a wicked smile in his direction and it worried him.

'To wear this colour,' Bilbo clarified, glancing up at Thorin. 'She insisted it looked good on me and wanted our outfits to match, but then she turned up in _blue.'_

'How distressing,' Thorin said, lips quirking into a smile. Bilbo shot him an annoyed look, as if to tell him just what he thought of his words. 'My sister spent half an hour just on my hair,' Thorin admitted and Bilbo's grin was as endearing as it was large, brightening his face as he gave a soft chuckle.

'She did a good job of it,' he said and Thorin watched as his cheeks started to diffuse with colour again. 'I mean- I don't-' Bilbo cut himself off and sighed, his face pink. 'I only meant that long hair must be...a nuisance. Sometimes.' he said quickly after a pause. Thorin had no doubt he had just refrained from using another, less savoury word, which was the reason he was looking determinedly at his punch again. Thorin wondered what it would be like to hear this prim, proper man say something decidedly less than proper...

Quickly he took a sip of punch and looked away. 'It can be,' he said mildly, willing his brain to stop supplying him with ideas of improper things he wanted to hear Bilbo say. The man was a known rake, a professional libertine - Thorin Durin wanted nothing to do with him.

And yet he found himself agreeing to show Bilbo to the gardens when the smaller man voiced a need for air. It was indeed a bit stuffy in the large room, a bit warm what with all the bodies packed in close together - he was close to Bilbo as they passed through the crowds -

There must be something in the drink, he decided. Something strong, that was it. That was the reason for these thoughts, so far from what he would be thinking were he in his right mind. As they passed a server with a silver tray of glasses of champagne he quickly swapped his punch for the pale golden liquid, downing it quickly and making a face at the dryness. Eventually they made it to the gardens, where the trees had been decorated and lit with lights, small candles in lanterns dangling from the branches and set into the bushes that lined the pathway. Absently he set off along the path, Bilbo close behind - he too seemed to have abandoned his punch, though Thorin couldn't tell if he'd had anything else.

Thorin regretted it immediately when he realised there were figures in various amorous embraces on the benches and among the trees. Suddenly he was looking everywhere but at the couples or at Bilbo, lest the other man mistake it for interest - and Thorin wasn't interested at all, not in this short, dimpled, curly-haired man. Not in the least. At all.

He should really head back to his sister. After all, he was supposed to be accompanying her and he'd spent most of the evening hiding or with Bilbo, also avoiding his date. But for some reason he felt a strange reluctance to take his leave of the other man, despite the fact he was a womanising reprobate. Well, he hired himself out as a companion for women. The villainy in that was becoming rather blurred in Thorin's mind.

Alarmed at himself, he stutteringly mumbled something about going to get another drink and backed away, hurrying back along the path to the party. He didn't look at Bilbo as he did so - if he had he might have seen the slightly hurt look on the man's face as he strode away - and when he reached the drinks table didn't hesitate to pour himself a stiff shot of something a little stronger than the punch and downed it in one, pouring another until he'd calmed down a little.

'Thorin!' He jumped as his sister's voice sounded behind him, sloshing a little of the amber liquid on the crisp white linen tablecloth.

'Don't _do_ that, Dís,' he muttered, rubbing at the droplet - now soaked into the tablecloth - rather ineffectually.

'Do what?' she asked innocently. 'I only came to see how you were enjoying the party. Oh, and to ask you if you've seen Tauriel's date.'

'Who's her date and why should I care?' he grumbled, taking a long sip of his brandy.

'She wants to introduce you,' Dís said. She turned and peered around the throngs of people standing and chatting and drinking. 'Oh, she's found him. Tauriel!' she called, waving the other lady over. Thorin schooled his features into one of polite interest as the red-haired lady in a blue dress appeared, towing her companion along behind her.

Thorin nearly dropped his glass when he saw who it was trailing after the woman.

 _'She's_ your date?' Thorin asked a red-faced, shell-shocked Bilbo.

'You two know each other?' Tauriel asked. If Thorin had been looking he'd have noticed her innocent look was a little too contrived; there was a knowing quirk to her lips and she deliberately didn't look at Dís.

'Of a fashion,' Thorin said, when Bilbo didn't seem forthcoming with any details. He didn't say that Bilbo had joined his hiding place with the aim of hiding from his companion.

'Good!' Tauriel said, smiling happily. 'You can look after him for me. I'm afraid I'm proving rather poor company.'

'Not at all,' Bilbo tried to protest while Thorin made a sort of unimpressed snorting noise, but before either was done Tauriel had grabbed Dís' hand and the two of them were gone, weaving their way through the crowds that parted for them and closed after them until they were out of sight.

'Well,' Thorin said.

'I'll go,' Bilbo piped up, gesturing behind him.

'You might as well stay,' Thorin said, sinking into one of the chairs placed by the table and drawing one out for Bilbo. 'At least no one will try and talk to me if I look busy.'

Bilbo had just been moving to sit in the chair but froze at Thorin's words. 'I think I'll go, if it's all the same to you,' he said icily, and with that turned and stalked off, leaving Thorin confused. Had he said something?

The rest of the night passed without another sign of Bilbo, to Thorin's - chagrin? Disappointment? He couldn't place it. But it was only in the taxi back with Dís when she asked him, still flushed with wine and champagne, 'did you and Bilbo kiss?'

He made some sort of strangled noise and choked. ' _What?'  
_

Dís' face fell. 'So you didn't, then?'

' _No!'_

'Did we not leave you alone long enough? Did someone else interrupt you? Oh, tell me who it was and I'll make sure we raise their fees-'

'No, Dís!' he protested. 'What do you mean? Why would you even think - _that?'_

'We even put you in matching colours and everything,' Dís said sorrowfully, looking morose. Thorin felt himself stiffen.

'His waistcoat... My cravat - you and Tauriel _planned_ this.'

'Of course,' Dís snorted.

'Why?' he demanded. He knew their driver was probably concerned, as he wasn't hiding his annoyance and the poor fellow probably thought they were about to have a domestic.

'Because you're emotionally constipated and I knew you'd need a push in the right direction, because Mahal forbid you ever admit you _like_ someone-'

'Like - Dís, I do _not_ like the man!'

'Thorin,' Dís said sharply, in the tone she used whenever the boys were acting up. 'Everyone can see you fancy the pants off Bilbo Baggins.'

'I don't.'

'You do.'

'I do _not.'_

'Why are you blushing then?'

'I'm not.'

'Of course not, that's why you're as red as a tomato.'

'It's - the alcohol.'

Dís made an unimpressed noise, looking at him and making him feel as if he were a naughty child, knowing his excuse is being recognised for what it is. He didn't like it. Irritably hs gave a huff and sat back in the chair, crossing his arms and staring out of the window. He did not fancy Bilbo Baggins, whatever his sister might say.

Finally they got home and Thorin stalked straight to bed, after popping his head into the boys' room and paying and dismissing the babysitter. 'Goodnight, Thorin,' Dís called to him in a whisper before he entered his own bedroom. He gave a grunt of a reply and shut the door, quietly so as not to wake Fíli and Kíli.

He woke late the next morning, when Dís was already up and breakfasting with the boys. He hurried down to join them, a little blearily from the amount he'd drunk the night before. Dís gave him a knowing look and said nothing; this was a pattern Thorin was, unfortunately, getting used to.

Weeks slipped past and to his relief, Dís didn't pester him about Bilbo beyond a couple of hints every now and again, but for the most part he heard nothing more about Bilbo Baggins and that was the way he wanted to keep it. A couple of weeks later he was just finishing a meeting with one of his clients, chatting as he escorted her and her assistant to the door, when she stopped him.

'I'm hosting a small dinner party next week, and my husband and I would be honoured if you'd attend,' she said and from the look in her eyes he knew she wouldn't accept any excuses.

'I'll be there,' he said, repressing a sigh. She pressed a card into his hand with a smile and left, the sounds of Ms. Took's laughter echoing back to him.

*** 

Dís was ecstatic that he'd accepted the invitation and, in true Dís fashion, made sure he was looking presentable for the dinner. Thorin had worked a lot with Ms. Bella Took, as her business was a reliable and trusted client of theirs, but he'd never met her husband. All he knew about him was that Bella hadn't taken his name and he'd been a stay-at-home father to their son. He was fond of Bella, however, and was sure he'd be a reasonable fellow if she'd kept hold of him for so long.

On the evening of the dinner he arrived at the address she'd given him on the little card and knocked at the door of the large but homely looking house, with a smart green door and round windows. The little plaque by the doorbell read "Bag End". Bella opened the door and ushered him in, glad he could make it and all that, and called her husband over. The house was already quite busy - by "small" Bella obviously didn't mean the same thing as Thorin - and introduced him to Thorin. Bungo was indeed a very nice man, soft spoken and intelligent with a head of now-greying curls. It was strange but they reminded him of Bilbo. 

Bella was leading him to the living room, after fetching him a glass of a good red wine. 'My son's in here. He's a bit shy but I think he'd appreciate your company. Most of the other guests are old friends of mine,' she said, chuckling, and Thorin could see that most of the people sitting around the room were indeed on the wrong side of fifty. 'Here he is,' Bella said, approaching a figure talking to a small group of people by the window, with curls just like Bungo's. He turned at his mother's voice as she called out to him, and Thorin froze.

It was _Bilbo._ Bilbo _Baggins._

Internally he cursed his luck. Bilbo's expression seemed to have frozen before it morphed into one of forced politeness. Bella made introductions - unnecessary, but he followed Bilbo's lead and assumed a look of polite interest, as if they were two complete strangers. When she was done and had left them alone, Thorin sat heavily into a chair, Bilbo gingerly taking the one opposite. He wasn't meeting Thorin's gaze.

'Go on,' he said eventually. 'Make some cutting remark about how the son of Belladonna Took ends up accompanying ladies to parties for a living.' He sounded resigned and Thorin frowned.

'I wasn't going to,' he said, truthfully. More likely, he'd been about to curse his luck that he'd meet Bilbo once again, but truth was he found himself not really minding. He was alright, as far as company went.

'You weren't?'

Thorin shook his head and Bilbo looked surprised. They sat in silence for a few minutes and just as Thorin was going to speak, Bella was calling them all to the dining room to eat. It turned out he'd been placed near the head of the table, a couple of seats down from Bella and Bungo and with an old man on his left and a smartly dressed woman on his right. To his surprise and, he found, his pleasure, Bilbo was opposite him.

He made polite conversation with the people on either side, ignoring the glances Bilbo would sometimes send in his direction and stealing looks of his own when he knew the other was occupied with his food or his neighbours. More than once he found himself admiring the soft lighting on his curls, the flush the wine had put on his cheeks, his smile and his neck when he tipped his head back to laugh at something his neighbour said, Thorin's eyes unconsciously following his throat down his neck to where he'd opened the top button of his shirt and offered a tantalising glimpse of skin. With the force of a tidal wave crashing down upon him, Thorin realised he fancied Bilbo Baggins. His sister had been right all along.

He looked up and found Bilbo looking at him, lips quirked up in a half smile, and Thorin's mouth went dry. He quickly looked back down at his plate before he did anything he'd regret, like lunge over the table and grab the man before proceeding to kiss him silly right there and then.

The rest of dinner seemed to pass interminably slowly, the conversation suddenly pointless and inane when Bilbo was before him, heady and promising looks being sent his way and making him entirely too uncomfortable. When finally, finally the dishes were cleared and people were drifting back to their living room with small tumblers of brandy, Bella spoke to her son.

'Why don't you show Mr. Durin the garden?' She looked at Thorin with a small grin. 'He looks like he could use some air.'

Thorin flushed but was too glad to be embarrassed for long because Bilbo grabbed his arm and led him to the back door, through the kitchen, and then they were outside in the night, the heavy scent of flowers thick in the air.

'I saw you looking at me at dinner,' Bilbo said quietly, leading Thorin away from the house and towards the back of the garden, where trees offered some small amount of shelter.

'Yes,' was all Thorin said. They looked at each other for a moment, neither saying anything, and then the space between them disappeared - Thorin couldn't say who closed the gap - and their lips were locked together in a furious kiss, hot and needy and desperate. Bilbo's hands had come up and fisted themselves in Thorin's hair, pulling the dark strands free from the restraining tie, while Thorin's had moved to pull Bilbo impossibly close.

Bilbo nipped at Thorin's bottom lip with his teeth, soothing it with his tongue as he pulled Thorin's head down closer, standing on his toes so that they were pressed as close as possible. Thorin was lost.

When they pulled apart for air, Thorin was dizzy. Bilbo appeared in no better state than him, his eyes dark and lips all red from their kisses. There was an unmistakable invitation in his eyes and Thorin nodded, letting Bilbo lead him away to his own flat. He didn't get his wish of seeing just what improper things he could make Bilbo say, but only because the smaller man was too busy making improper noises.

*** 

He arrived home late the next day, dishevelled and still in his best suit. He'd mentally prepared himself for his sister's reprimands and chastisement, but there was none. She just grinned at him wickedly.

'I hope you had a good time, Thorin,' she said, her eyes full of glee as she noted the blush that worked its way down steadily from his cheeks down his neck.

'Weren't you...worried when I didn't come home?'

'Not at all,' she said. 'I had a...very interesting phone call from our client Ms. Took, who seemed to think you'd be...a little occupied for the night.' If it was possible, Thorin blushed even darker. He ducked his head and made to shuffle upstairs. 'Oh and Thorin?' she asked, making him pause on the stairs. 'I take it he was good.'

She laughed as his grumbled curses sounded from the stairwell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love awkward!Thorin. It's a bit of a recurring theme in my stories. :3 I hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Game, Set, Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin may be a successful tennis player but he's still a fail at flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeep so here's the next little installment! This one was inspired as I was watching the Wimbledon finals the other week (oh, how cultured I am to watch _tennis!_ )
> 
> I do hope you enjoy Bilbo being forward and Thorin being a fail. uwu

The day was hot and Thorin emptied the rest of his bottle of water over his face after drinking some, relishing the momentary respite from the blaring heat. He accepted the towel offered to him by the nearby silent ball boy, wiping away the beads of moisture as they dripped into his hair and down his neck.

All eyes in that court were on him, he knew; he was two games away from beating Smaug for good, but his skin was prickling with more than just the weight of the thousand or so pairs of eyes trained on him. He was never self-conscious during a match, and in fact usually did quite a good job of ignoring the rest of the world, but today was different.

He glanced up at the box where he saw his brother and sister and his nephews sitting, the boys waving and shooting him a thumbs up - seemingly on the instruction of their Uncle Frerin, if the pleased look Fíli sent at him was any indication. Kíli looked to be about to make some sort of rude gesture in Smaug's direction - one he couldn't possibly know the meaning of yet - and breathed a small sigh of relief when Dís stopped him in time. Thorin could do without the media coverage that would get for weeks.

As he drank some more water, he let his eyes slip over the other people in the box, reserved for friends and family of the players or those able to afford the tickets. He recognised the long pale hair of Thranduil Greenwood, who gave him a stiff nod when their eyes met; the famous publisher Elrond Peredhel and his daughter; there in the seats behind Thorin's family was old Gandalf, Thorin's old school teacher who'd suggested he take up tennis. Beside him was a young man, bronze curls falling down about his face, which was pink with the sun. The man's eyes were currently studying Smaug over on the other end of the court, but when they flicked to Thorin, he felt the prickling on his neck intensify as those green eyes met his and widened slightly, seemingly in surprise.

Thorin didn't release his gaze, intrigued by the man - what was he doing with Gandalf? The old man was leaning down to mutter something in the golden-haired man's ear and eye contact was broken as the man looked away, though Thorin could swear his face was a little more flushed than before.

Before he could study him further, however, the bell was ringing that sounded the resumption of the match and Thorin picked up his racket - a silver slimline model named _Orcrist_ \- and took his place on the court, ready. Smaug was serving first, so he kept his eyes on the other man, strangely skinny with his dark auburn hair that glinted like fire in the sun, and waited for him to make his move.

The prickling on his neck resumed, the flesh creeping uncomfortably, but he didn't let himself look at the box. He kept his focus on Smaug and was glad he had when Smaug moved in his signature quickfire way, sending the ball hurtling towards Thorin's end of the court. Smaug's style was to keep his opponent moving, aiming to tire them; that was all well and good but Thorin answered with powerful shots of his own, shots Smaug couldn't hope to match and to Thorin's relief, the ball hit the net on Smaug's return one too many times and he was one game away from winning this match.

He sent his nephews a little smile of triumph as the spectators roared their approval, but before he looked away that mysterious fair-haired man caught his eye again. The man held his gaze for just a moment before looking back at Smaug and Thorin felt the first wave of irritation rise up in his gut. He was the one who was winning, so why was the man watching Smaug? He quelled his irritation quickly and took the balls from the ball-boy, continuing the game as soon as Smaug was ready.

It was a tense half an hour from then on. They'd been playing since midday and already it was late afternoon; Smaug had beaten Thorin one too many times for this to remain _friendly;_ and all of a sudden Thorin wanted to keep that man's eyes on _him,_ not Smaug, and he wanted to see him as he accepted that cup. Thorin played like he never had before, his grunts of exertion sounding out as he smashed the ball towards Smaug in impossibly fierce hits, one so hard Smaug actually dropped his racket with the force of it. All the while he felt his neck prickling and knew that it was the man with the golden hair.

Finally, finally, Smaug missed the ball and as the whistle blew, Thorin's breath left him in a great gust. _He'd won._ Thorin had finally accomplished his dream of winning the most prestigious tennis tournament, and against Smaug of all people! He could hardly believe it, and let his coach Dwalin pull him into a fierce hug, the roar of the spectators fading into nothing in his triumph and his relief. The rest of it was all a bit of a haze and he moved as if in a dream; all he remembered afterwards, aside from being carried by Dwalin to the podium, was that as the spectators cheered and the triumphant music swelled out in waves around them and his nephews bouncing up and down with delight, a pair of green eyes met his and the small smirk the man offered had him caught hook line and sinker. He couldn't tell you what he ended up mumbling for his speech, only that people whooped and the clapping didn't end until he'd made his stumbling way back inside to the changing rooms.

Smaug gave him a cold smile that told him to beware next year, but Thorin was too elated to take much notice. Instead he hurried into the shower, relaxing into the hot water as it soothed his tensed muscles and washed away the hours' worth of sweat covering his body. As the water cascaded over him, plastering his hair to his head, he remembered the prickling of his neck as that mysterious man had watched him and started suddenly, wondering if he was somehow here in his bathroom before shaking his head at his own nonsense.

The man was very attractive, however, in a soft kind of way. His round cheeks hinted at more curves beneath his clothes which would perfectly complement Thorin's own muscle... Embarrassed at the sudden spark of arousal that sent coursing through his body he quickly turned his shower to freezing cold, chasing away the thoughts and any other nonsense his mind might supply him with. When he was done he changed quickly into the clothes set out for the after party, which he was now attending as the victorious player, where in previous years it had been as close runner-up. He could almost taste his victory in the bowls of strawberries and cream he knew were going to be served, along with champagne on ice.

Dwalin and Balin - his manager - met him as he left his changing rooms, congratulating him, before he was met by a dark-haired collision and Kíli came running around the corner before flinging himself at his uncle, who caught him and promptly set him on his shoulder as the boy laughed in delight. Fíli followed not far behind and Thorin let him climb on him as best as he could with Kíli clinging to his neck as he was. Dís and Frerin were waiting for him around the corner, smiles of triumph on their faces as they fell in beside them, and so it was that Thorin entered the pavilion with one nephew on his shoulders and the other standing on his feet.

After the initial round of cheers and speeches and cameras flashing, Thorin was finally allowed to wander around with his bowl of strawberries and cream (with plenty of sugar, he had to admit) and talk to a few of the people gathered in the pavilion. He made small talk with a couple and had just turned to pick up a glass of champagne - which had never tasted better - when Smaug appeared in front of him.

'Well played today, Durin,' he said in his strangely quiet, soft-spoken voice. 'Enjoy it while you can. Next year it'll be me they're all bowing and scraping to.'

Thorin forced himself to remain calm. 'Thank you, Smaug,' he said as graciously as he could while trying not to give in to the urge to to gouge the man's eyes out. 'Let the best man win...next year. If you don't mind, I'd like to celebrate my victory.' He gave a short nod and turned away. To his relief Gandalf appeared in front of him and Thorin stopped to talk to him.

'You played well, Thorin Durin,' he said, that smile on his face that said so much more than he let on.

'Thank you, Mr Grey,' he said, trying to stop the little thrill of triumph that bloomed in his chest before giving up and revelling in it while he could.

'Come now, I think we've gone beyond the need for calling me "Mr Grey", don't you think?' he chuckled and Thorin smiled back. They chatted a little more until Thorin couldn't contain his interest any longer.

'Gandalf, you... There was someone in the box next to you this afternoon,' he said, trying to sound only mildly inquisitive, not burning with curiosity as he was. 'I didn't recognise him. Who is he?'

Gandalf made a small noise of recognition. 'Ah yes... You must be referring to Bilbo!'

'Bilbo?'

'Yes, Bilbo Baggins. He's a teacher at your old school now, and a good friend of mine either way. I knew his mother as a young woman, too.'

He said nothing more on the matter and Thorin had to bite his tongue before he begged the old man to introduce them rather than continue talking about something else, as he was doing now. Eventually, though, he released Thorin and he hurried to get another drink, his stomach dropping out of his body as he spotted a head of golden curls at the other table. Quickly picking up a glass of champagne, Thorin made his way over to the other table, watching the man - Bilbo - talk with a few other people.

Surreptitiously Thorin joined at the table under the pretence of getting another bowl of strawberries and cream. Suddenly more nervous than he'd been before starting the match, as he leant over to pick up the sugar he purposefully knocked his elbow against Bilbo's arm. The man was shorter than him, delightfully so - his curls just reached Thorin's shoulder.

At the touch of Thorin's arm against his Bilbo leapt around, apologising profusely as he moved out of the way; Thorin said nothing as he simply looked at him and Bilbo blushed a little, all apologies dying on his lips. The people he'd been speaking to said a quick goodbye and Thorin was left alone - for now - with Bilbo.

'Hullo,' Bilbo supplied, flushing a little. Perhaps it was the heat, but Thorin liked to think it was a little more than that. Bilbo looked away when Thorin didn't reply and set about getting a bowl of strawberries for himself. He had hardly any sugar, Thorin noted, though he fairly smothered them in cream. 'You played well today,' Bilbo said as he picked up his spoon before turning to meet Thorin's gaze.

Thorin forced himself to speak, to say something, anything, but nothing came and panic took over, freezing his brain. 'Thorin,' he eventually mumbled, though Bilbo of course already knew his name. 'I'm Thorin.'

Bilbo smiled as he gave him his name in return. 'Gandalf tells me you used to attend his school.' Bilbo's eyes were no less intense now that he was up close to him and Thorin felt his whole body prickling with sudden heat, not just his back. He managed to give a reply and not make a fool of himself, though he almost did when he watched Bilbo from the corner of his eye as the younger man ate a strawberry, licking away the spot of cream that landed on the corner of his mouth. Thorin had to exchange his strawberries for the champagne, taking a deep gulp to try and settle his suddenly very dry mouth.

Bilbo was looking at him out of the corner of his eye, sizing him up as Thorin was doing him, and Thorin hoped he wasn't imagining the glint of interest in Bilbo's eyes. When Bilbo shot him a look, his mouth curving up into a smirk, Thorin knew it was no figment of imagination. Now he was close he could see the soft, smooth curves of Bilbo's body, and suddenly found himself wondering what it would be like to run his hands over soft skin, smooth and yielding beneath him -

'You were very forceful out there today,' Bilbo was saying, dropping his voice so that Thorin almost had to lean in to catch it. He swallowed thickly and found himself nodding. 'With arms like yours, it's no wonder...'

Thorin truly didn't know what to say, now that his wits had completely deserted him. 'Can I get you a drink?' he blurted out then, almost startling Bilbo. 'Not - not champagne - unless you'd like champagne - but a proper drink,' he said, flushing furiously and hot embarrassment and desire flooding through him at Bilbo's look. 'In a bar. Away from here.'

Bilbo looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying Thorin's discomfiture. 'I don't just say yes to every man who asks me out, you know,' he said, but the glint in his eye told Thorin he wanted to say yes very, very much.

'And I don't just ask out everyone who sits in the box,' Thorin said softly, stepping closer. Bilbo didn't move and they were standing very close indeed, neither saying anything for a long moment.

'I must be very special then,' Bilbo's voice sounded from somewhere about Thorin's chest height. Thorin was about to lean in and - do what? Kiss him? Probably - when Bilbo stepped back, sly grin on his face. 'I'm also not that easily won,' he smiled. 'You'll have to prove to me you're not just any old man...' he said as he started backing away.

'How?' Thorin called after him.

'I don't know,' he called back. 'Maybe by winning next year, too!'

Thorin grinned as Bilbo disappeared into the crowds. He'd find Gandalf later - Thorin had seen the interest in Bilbo's eyes. He'd have a date by the end of the evening, he was sure of it. He saw Bilbo's coy smile from the other end of the tent before he turned back to whoever it was he was talking to and Thorin felt his smile brighten, even as his brother slipped over to enquire who the attractive man he'd just been speaking to was.

'My date,' Thorin replied, his smile growing wider at the flabbergasted look on Frerin's face.

* * *

_Epilogue_

Thorin did go on to win the tournament the next year, this time against a big brute of a man called Azog (Smaug, to his delight, had been knocked out in the semi-finals by Thorin himself). This time the green-eyed man with the golden curls sat on the front row next to his nephews, cheering him on with that coy smile before kissing him soundly in front of the crowds as the cup fell forgotten to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! Heh. Awkward!failboat!Thorin is **my favourite thing oh my god**
> 
> Also, I saw Richard in the Crucible yesterday and my feels have still not recovered! That man. Just. There was chest. And beard. And lots of it. okaybye. XD


	4. Erebor Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo had never thought this day would come, but here he was - at Erebor Manor, where his novel was about to be made into a film. Life couldn't be better... Aside from the mysterious, dark-haired butler who seems to appear whenever Bilbo's somewhere he shouldn't be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M DYING BECAUSE THAT NEW TRAILER WAS HORRIBLE AND I NEED FLUFF. So here you go. I hope you enjoy it ^_^

Bilbo had never truly thought this day would come. Despite his friends' encouragement and his publisher's enthusiasm and his agent's certainty, Bilbo had never put too much faith in the idea. It had seemed wholly incredible, like something from the stories he wrote and not real life.

But now here he was, walking around the garden of Erebor Manor, where Istari Film Studios was about to begin production on transforming his novel _The Red Book_ into a television serial. It was more than he'd ever imagined would happen, particularly as the producer had insisted he work closely with the team.

They would only be working in a set area of the manor and its surrounding gardens - apparently the old Earl of Erebor wasn't the most friendly person and had been reluctant even to let them use the parts of the manor they were, but it seemed the money had done the trick.

Erebor Manor was just perfect - with its grey stone facade and large, imposing windows staring out like hollow eyes, it was suitably gothic and unnerving, and the inside even more so. Bilbo had been shown the gallery, filled with stone busts of previous Earls and their families, like a row of decapitated heads. It made Bilbo shudder to remember it and he vowed not to return there. The rest of the rooms he was shown were all perfectly grand and suitably rich, and Bilbo couldn't wait to see the characters he'd thought up be brought to life amongst the rich crimson and royal blue hangings, gold trim and gilding.

He heard his name being called and turned to go back and join the rest of the team. Saruman would be running over the rest of the details for the next day - seeing as it looked to be good weather, they'd be shooting the outdoor scenes in the vast grounds which they'd been given free reign of. Bilbo was very much looking forward to going down to the lake and getting a look at the forest.

He made it back to the trailers, picking his way down the path in the half-light of the evening, and after they'd run through the schedule they made their way to their respective rooms that they'd been allocated within the manor itself. The old Earl may not be friendly but he knew to house guests in comfort, that much was for sure - Bilbo's room was very grand indeed, with an old four-poster bed engraved with acorns and oak leaves. He changed into his nightwear and pulled on his robe - apparently the budget didn't stretch to lighting a fire, though the ceilings were so high it certainly warranted one - and curled up under the blankets and furs.

However, Bilbo was so nervous and full of anticipation that he couldn't sleep. His brain was flitting around, worrying and wondering and filling him with a restless energy, so he got out of bed with a sigh. He'd never sleep unless he walked some of this energy away.

Tying his robe tightly and pulling on his slippers to protect against the cold flagstones of the corridor, he slipped quietly outside and stood there for a moment, pondering where to go. The film crew had been given full access to the ground floor and restricted parts of the first floor; the second floor - the Earl's private apartments - was completely forbidden. But that was alright; the ground floor was plenty big enough to assuage his restlessness.

He set off towards the entrance hall - he'd like to have a closer look at the fabulous stone staircase again - and allowed himself to marvel at the architecture and the furnishings. It was all rather wonderful.

He let his feet carry him around the ancient stone house, sticking to the ground floor and trying to remember all the twists and turns so that he'd be able to find his way back to his room afterwards. He could feel himself getting sleepy now, anticipation finally giving way to the exhaustion of the day.

He turned another corner and saw a rectangle of light thrown onto the grey stone floor, orange and flickering like candlelight, coming from an open door. He stepped closer and peered around the door, intrigued at what might warrant such bright light when the rest of the place was lit only by night lights.

What he saw was another gallery, lined with tapestries and the large window drapes closed against the night. There in the centre stood a pedestal of gold, but it was the stone that rested upon the pedestal that caught Bilbo's attention. It was beautiful, if slightly disconcerting in the way it seemed to absorb the candlelight until it glowed, leaving the rest of the room darker. Unconsciously he stepped closer. Surely the Earl could just sell this, if he needed money? Then he wouldn't need to suffer the hassle of a film crew running around his grounds - especially as he _was_ an elderly man. But this stone could surely solve all their financial problems -

'You're not supposed to be here.'

Bilbo whirled around at the voice behind him, heart in his mouth, and he most certainly did _not_ let out an undignified squeak when he saw the grim-faced, black-haired man before him who looked as if he hadn't smiled once in his life. Bilbo tried to calm his racing heart before it beat right out of his chest, now that he knew it wasn't ghosts or any such things. Though the scowl on the face of this man - judging by his dark clothes Bilbo guessed he was a butler or valet - was almost more terrifying than the thought of ghosts.

'I'm with the film crew,' he forced himself to say, refusing to be cowed by the man's glare. 'The Earl gave us full use of the ground floor.'

'You shouldn't be in here,' the man repeated firmly, his blue eyes boring sharply into his, and Bilbo gave a sigh before slipping past him to go back to his room. Well, that had just been rude! And what sort of man goes about lurking in shadows, as if to purposefully frighten unwary visitors?

Well, he decided, there was no use fretting over it now. Instead he'd finally get some sleep, in this rather comfy four-poster bed he'd been given. It was worth rude butlers, he decided as he sank into the mattress and fell asleep.

***

The film-star life certainly wasn't as glamorous as everyone seemed to make out, Bilbo decided. He was exhausted, and he wasn't even one of the actors or production team! He'd just followed them around and occasionally given a little input on the logistics of the scene.

He hurried back to his own room in the manor, collapsing onto it and burrowing under the covers. He slept for a good few hours, waking with an hour left before they were due to serve dinner out in the film pavilion, so he decided to fill the time doing a little more exploring. He'd only stick to the places he was allowed, of course... Though a thrill shivered up his spine at the thought of going back to that gallery with the stone, where he'd encountered that strange rude butler. This time he fancied looking at the first floor, though - he was sure there'd be more fabulous architecture or artwork up there, even if the library was unfortunately out of bounds. It was a shame - he'd have loved to see it.

Instead he busied himself absorbing in the paintings and drapes and tapestries that were found on this floor in some of the drawing rooms. As he made his way down the corridor he paused just outside the library door, looking at it longingly and imagining all the old beautiful tomes that might be in there. He could almost taste the smell of old parchment and dust through the door, and he stepped a little closer, bending down just to see if he could peer through the large keyhole -

'What are you doing?'

The sudden voice behind him made him jump and he span around - he would forever deny that he made even a semblance of a squeaking noise in his sudden fright - and found himself face to face with the dark-haired butler from before. Well, Bilbo assumed he was a butler. Maybe a valet was more appropriate, considering the smartness of his sombre attire. His voice sounded hoarser than yesterday.

'I was just looking,' Bilbo said defensively. 'I know I can't go in there but I was just having a look.' He tried to sidle away as he spoke, but the man's intense blue eyes caught him and held him, making him feel as if he was a badly behaved child. 'Don't tell the Earl,' he said, 'and I'll just be on my way -'

The man's eyes had widened a little at the mention of the Earl, but returned to normal quickly as he looked at Bilbo searchingly. Bilbo began to fidget under his gaze, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

'I have a message for you from the...Earl,' the dark-haired grumpy man said, making Bilbo jump.

'For me?' Bilbo asked, confused. What business could the earl possibly have with him?

'You are Mr. Baggins, the author?' Bilbo nodded warily. 'Then he says it is only fitting that you should be able to visit the library.'

Bilbo gaped at him. 'Really?' The man inclined his head in a nod. 'Well then,' Bilbo said, straightening up to his full height (he was still towered over by the other man). 'Please pass on my most gracious thanks to the earl for his generosity.'

He thought he saw a brief flash of a smile on the man's face before he bowed his head in a nod again. 'I will be sure to.' The man moved forward to the door and unlocked it with the most interesting key Bilbo had ever seen, all geometric angles and made of black metal, before pushing open the door and revealing a paradise to Bilbo.

The walls were lined wall to floor with books, a large ornate desk by the grand window which Bilbo could see opened out onto a balcony and overlooked the gardens and lake where they'd been shooting earlier that day. The air was still and heavy with the weight of the words contained in the room, all the knowledge that was just waiting to be discovered. Bilbo breathed in the musty scent and felt his body begin to relax immediately, his eyes roaming the large room and deciding what to look at first.

'This is the earl's favourite room,' the valet behind him said in a soft voice, and Bilbo was pleased to note the way his voice had lowered now they were in this sacred haven of books. He wasn't _completely_ uncouth, then. 'Often he'll spend days in here, reading and writing and looking out across the grounds.'

'It must be wonderful,' Bilbo breathed, examining a shelf. The volumes here were all bound in dark blue leather with silver etchings on the spine spelling out the title - _The Earls of Erebor and their Families_ \- and the Durin crest below it, the hammer and anvil crossed and surrounded by stars. Bilbo supposed that nobility did take their genealogy seriously, for it to fill thirteen volumes.

'It is,' the valet agreed. 'You should see it in winter, when the whole room is lit by the snow outside and the books look as if they've been gilded with frost; or in summer, when the sunset turns them all to fire - or so the earl tells me,' he finished lamely, catching sight of Bilbo's bemused look.

'It's all right,' Bilbo chuckled, turning back to run his finger along the soft leather spines. 'You obviously sneak up here when the earl's not around,' he said, lightly teasing - the passion in the man's face as he'd spoken had made Bilbo warm to him quite considerably, now he wasn't glaring and telling him off. 'I won't tell if you don't.' He gave a small smile at the man, who only swallowed thickly. There was silence for a little while while Bilbo continued to examine the tomes and the dark-haired, sombre man stood still, watching him.

'I - The earl said you were welcome to read whatever you wish,' the man said eventually into the quiet, making Bilbo jump - he'd forgotten he was even there.

'That is generous of him,' Bilbo said doubtfully. Some of these volumes had to have been over a hundred years old... He looked back at the valet. 'What's the earl like?' he asked, plucking a book carefully off the shelf and holding it reverently in his hands as dust motes floated from the pages.

'What do you know of him already?' the other man asked. Bilbo was going to have to enquire as to his actual position afterwards, but he was too intrigued by the talk of the earl just then.

'Only that he's the second Earl Thorin Durin, and has been described as an old, grumpy hermit who prefers solitude to company. And that he likes reading,' he said with a winning smile.

'That's only partly true,' the man said, a tiny smile curving his mouth - it was breathtaking, Bilbo decided - as he walked over to the window, hands clasped behind his back. With his long dark hair and well-cut suit, he looked almost regal. 'One can't deny that he is a largely unsociable man but it's my belief that I...he... He simply hasn't found the right person to enjoy the company of.'

Bilbo looked out over the grounds too, intrigued by this man who spoke with such conviction about the earl. He must be a close friend or helper, Bilbo decided then, to speak so fondly of the man.

'As for being old, he's only as aged as you or I,' the man said, looking back at Bilbo with a quick quirk of his lips which fairly made Bilbo _melt._

Just as Bilbo was considering doing something embarrassing like blurting out his sudden desire to run his hands through the man's locks and feel his short beard rub against his face, he was suddenly saved by the sound of his name being called and he jumped, remembering himself.

'I'd better get back,' he said, suddenly flustered as the man's eyes still hadn't left him. He made to replace the book but the man stopped him with his deep, velvet-rich voice.

'Take it,' he said. ' You can always return it tomorrow.'

Bilbo just nodded and scurried away, confused at the man. All through dinner he was thinking of his bright blue eyes and that hair, and the certainty with which he'd spoken of the earl. It was all very odd. Gandalf had said the earl had been a nightmare to negotiate with and had been reluctant to lodge so many strangers in his manor; why would he suddenly grant Bilbo access to what seemed to be his haven? It was all very strange indeed.

It was only as he fell asleep that night that Bilbo realised he hadn't asked the man his name.

***

When he next saw the strange handsome butler-valet, he was crossing the grounds with Radagast when his neck began to prickle and he glanced up toward the house, his eyes finding the window of the library. The drapes were still drawn - it was yet early still - except for where a face was looking out. Bilbo saw a flash of blue eyes in his direction, scorching him with the gaze, before the face disappeared and the drapes fell back into place. Bilbo shook his head, dismissing it.

He'd gone to return the book the day after he'd first been shown the library but the dark-haired man hadn't been there, so he'd simply replaced it and chosen another one, an old adventure tale that made him laugh at its outlandishness. The next couple of times he'd gone back, there'd been no one there but there _had_ been a few papers on the desk, the lid of the fountain pen left to one side and a drop of ink about to spill onto the parchment. Bilbo had moved the pen to safety and scarpered, not relishing the thought of bumping into the earl, no matter what the butler-valet with the nice hair might say.

He saw him again on his way back to his room after a late-night schedule discussion, when his eyes were drooping with tiredness. At least, he _thought_ he'd seen him - there'd been a smartly dressed figure with long hair turning the corner at the end of his corridor, the hair a dark black when it was thrown into relief by the gas-lamp; Bilbo had considered hurrying after him to talk to him but had decided sleep was more important and instead had collapsed into bed, dreaming of soft dark hair on his skin and sharp, blue eyes.

The man seemed to have disappeared then, but Bilbo was nothing if not determined and he went roaming again at night, hoping he'd chance across him again. He found him back at the strange gallery with the tapestries and the large stone, although this time it was Bilbo making him jump - and really, wasn't it just unfair that he still looked good even then?

'Hullo,' he said lightly, moving to join the man where he stood before the stone. The man stiffened slightly at his approach, but he ignored it and moved closer anyway. If it was still considered unseemly for guests to interact with the servants here, well, Bilbo had something to say to this earl! 'I haven't seen you around much recently.'

'I've been very - busy,' he replied, his voice so deep Bilbo felt it rather than heard it.

'The earl must be very inconsiderate, to keep you working so late,' Bilbo complained. 'Surely you should be off duty by now.' The man said nothing to that and Bilbo assumed it was because he agreed with him. Gathering his courage, Bilbo forced himself to ask his burning question. 'What's your name?' he blurted out.

The man looked at him slowly, his eyes wide and very, very blue; Bilbo could almost lose himself in those pools.

'I shouldn't like to say,' he said quietly. Bilbo frowned.

'Why ever not?' he asked, confused.

The man looked uncomfortable, his face frowning again and Bilbo bemoaned the loss of that smile. He wanted to smooth that frown away with a kiss, he decided; he didn't, of course.

'You... You might laugh,' the man said and Bilbo grinned.

'I promise you, I've heard some crackers in my time,' he said. 'I promise I won't laugh. I swear it.' He looked at the man earnestly, who continued to frown even as he sighed. Bilbo watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

'Alright,' the man said. 'I'm...' He licked his lips uncertainly. 'I'm Thorin.'

Bilbo paused for a minute and let that sink in. _Thorin_...

'Like the earl?' he asked, wrinkling his nose. The man - Thorin - looked at him like a skittish animal before nodding.

'We're...um, of an age,' he said by way of explanation and Bilbo gave a shrug.

'It's not a bad name,' he said, smiling at Thorin widely. Thorin was looking at him warily, as if searching for any sort of insincerity but he was evidently satisfied that Bilbo meant it, as he returned the smile, though not as widely. 'Now I know your name, there's been something I've been meaning to ask you,' Bilbo said then, matter-of-factly. He felt the weight of Thorin's gaze settle on him and he looked up, meeting those blue eyes.

'Yes?' he asked in that deep, gruff voice.

Bilbo stuck his chin out defiantly and squared his shoulders. 'Would... Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?'

***

Thorin didn't seem to mind Bilbo kissing him at all; in fact, he soon took over and their kisses turned heated and hungry, hands clutching at hair and clothes and hips as Thorin backed them up against the wall. Bilbo could feel the cloth of the tapestry behind him, but he was too busy enjoying the roughness of Thorin's beard on his face and the softness of the dark hair as he fisted his hands in it to pull Thorin even closer to think about it.

He felt light-headed and dizzy and their kisses grew deeper and heat flooded through him as Thorin's large hands grasped tightly at his hips, holding him close. It was only when those hands moved, dipping lower and making heat pool in his belly, that he broke off the kiss.

'We can't do this here,' he said, laughing breathlessly as Thorin nuzzled at his ear, making him shiver with delight.

'Yes we can,' Thorin groaned, trying to distract him with kisses again but Bilbo wasn't to be deterred.

'Not on a tapestry!' he said, scandalised. 'These are the _earl's-"_

'He doesn't care,' Thorin protested, tasting the skin at the crook of Bilbo's neck.

'Even so,' Bilbo said firmly, trying to keep his train of thought despite Thorin's distracting touches and the feel of his mouth on his skin. 'I don't like the thought of _him_ here...'

Thorin froze at his words; he pressed one last kiss to Bilbo's neck before straightening up, once again towering over Bilbo. He gave an awkward cough. 'You're right,' he said gruffly in his lust-hazy voice. 'Not here.' He stepped back, running a hand through his now tangled hair, and Bilbo missed his warmth.

'There's always my room,' Bilbo said coyly, reaching for him and pulling him close again. Thorin gave an indulgent smile and kissed him again, this time more languid and lazy, though no less full of desire.

'Perhaps,' Thorin said, smiling a small smile, though Bilbo couldn't help but feel like he was putting barriers in place between them. He found himself desperately hoping that wasn't the case, but he let Thorin go, watching him walk away before returning to his own room. His lips were still red from Thorin's kisses and he was sure he'd have marks on his neck the next day.

The whole of the next day was torture. They were filming a couple of indoor scenes in some of the state rooms on the ground floor, but Bilbo found himself unable to concentrate on the scene or take in the furnishings, his mind was so busy wondering about Thorin and hoping to catch a glimpse of him. But he didn't, and it did bother him slightly. Not that he'd deluded himself into believing this was anything particularly life-changing, but he'd hoped he'd at least have managed to get some satisfaction from it. Though he wouldn't mind his thing with Thorin becoming _some_ thing, because just the memory of his voice was enough to make him want to melt into a puddle.

Gandalf seemed to notice his preoccupation and when they stopped for lunch he took Bilbo off to one side, walking with him a little. Bilbo noticed they were headed for the main gallery, where all the paintings and busts of the old earls were. He hadn't thought Gandalf would be particularly interested in such pieces.

'I know what's on your mind,' he said to Bilbo, his voice perfectly neutral and belying the glint in his eye. 'Or should I say, who?'

'You do?' Bilbo asked, baffled slightly.

'Oh yes,' Gandalf said as they walked slowly down the centre of the gallery. Bilbo really found these busts quite disturbing, like decapitated heads.

'How?' Bilbo was completely confused. He'd said nothing, and it had only been last night, after all...

'I told him,' a voice sounded out and Bilbo jumped, looking ahead to where the voice sounded from and smiling when he saw Thorin. He left Gandalf's side and made to move closer, but Thorin held out a hand and Bilbo stepped back as if slapped. Gandalf had disappeared, as silently as if by magic. 'Please, Bilbo, there's something you should know.'

'What?' Bilbo asked, his stomach pooling in dread. Was Thorin rejecting him? Had their encounter lost him his position? Bilbo didn't know what to think but Bilbo was ready to rail at this earl.

'Come,' Thorin said softly and he led Bilbo down the gallery, so close they were almost touching but not quite. Bilbo was completely clueless as to what was happening and as they reached the end of the gallery and the most recent statues they stopped, Bilbo studying Thorin's face earnestly.

'What is it, Thorin?' he asked, lost. Thorin gave a heavy sigh and rubbed at his temples, bringing Bilbo's attention to those streaks of silver in his hair.

'I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you,' he said, not looking at him. Bilbo frowned and drew back.

'How so?' he demanded.

'You're Bilbo Baggins,' Thorin began. 'I knew you were an author, I knew your face - I knew who you were before you even arrived here. You know nothing of me besides my name,' he said, looking at his feet.

'I know you're Thorin and you live here,' Bilbo supplied helpfully. A ghost of a smile appeared on Thorin's face fleetingly before he met Bilbo's eyes.

'You're right on both counts,' he said. 'But it's a little more complicated than that.'

Before Bilbo could say anything, he led Bilbo just a little further down before gesturing to one of the marble busts that lined the room. Bilbo was about to protest before he saw it.

There, the very last bust - it was an exact replica of the man beside him - high noble brow, strong jaw and that nose... All the air left his body as he realised what he was seeing, and his gaze flicked between the man and the model a few times as his heart beat out of his chest. This was _not_ happening...

The only difference now was that the stone Thorin Durin wore an expression of pride and determination while the real one looked guilty and ashamed. To think, Bilbo had said all those things about him _to_ him! He felt his cheeks begin to flush and he quickly looked away, breathing deep.

'You let me say all those things to you,' Bilbo said, looking out of the large window out at the grounds.

'I wanted to talk to you,' Thorin admitted. 'You'd have run away if you knew who I was.'

Bilbo had to admit that that was true; it was more than likely he'd have scurried away in fear if he'd known he'd bumped into the earl. The _actual Earl of Erebor Manor._ At least Thorin's very noble, regal bearing made sense now.

'You wanted to talk to me?' he asked, still not looking at Thorin but feeling a tiny bud of warmth blooming in his chest.

'Yes,' Thorin said softly. 'I'd read your book, and the first time I saw you as you arrived, I...' he trailed off and when Bilbo looked at him he saw he'd flushed a dark pink. Suddenly all those awkward silences and the passionate speech and the way his eyes had followed him that day in the library all made sense. 'I fancied you right from the beginning,' Thorin finally said.

Bilbo looked at him, trying to get over the fact that the man he'd kissed was the same man currently as red as a tomato who was also the earl of the manor. It was harder than anticipated.

'Well,' Bilbo said evenly, looking at Thorin closely. 'That leaves us in a rather difficult situation.'

'I'm sorry,' Thorin said, so earnestly and so miserably that Bilbo couldn't help but laugh and brush away his apology with a long, lingering kiss.

'I don't mean that,' he said, whispering against Thorin's lips and enjoying the way the taller man's arms came up to wrap around him. 'I meant that it presents us with a difficult question.'

Thorin looked confused and Bilbo relented, pressing even closer.

'I suppose that means your bed will be nicer than mine?' he said suggestively, grinning up at Thorin, who returned it in a blinding smile that was so beautiful it ached.

'And the library's more than big enough for two,' Thorin promised, pressing a gentle kiss to Bilbo's ear before kissing his way back down to his mouth and claiming him as his own, at least until Bilbo pulled away. Thorin groaned at the interruption. 'What is it this time?'

'They're all watching us,' Bilbo said, gesturing at the rows of heads, staring blankly ahead. Thorin gave a good natured sigh and led Bilbo upstairs to the state bedroom, mercifully free from voyeuristic stone eyes.


	5. Of Pedalos and Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin had never realised a trip out on the boating lake would end up being so mortifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you should all know by now that Thorin is an awkward bunny. It's a fact of life. :P Enjoy some summery, awkward-Thorin bagginshield fluff!

Thorin wanted to cry. It wasn't often that he was reduced to tears, but some things could break even him. "Some things" being, in this case, his nephews.

He hadn't seen them for a while, business trips and hectic work schedules not being exactly conducive to family visits, so when Dís had offered to let him have them for the day when he finally found a day free, he jumped at the chance. And because the weather was so beautiful, with hardly a cloud in the sky and only breaths of wind to cool them, boating had seemed a perfectly reasonable idea.

Thorin hadn't realised that the heat seemed to have turned them into very demons from hell, they were so excitable and loud. But by the time he had, it was too late and they were already out on the boating lake in the large park, Thorin in charge of the oars and shooting down any attempt the boys made to try and have a go. No doubt they'd manage to drop an oar, leaving them stranded and with an extra fee to pay.

But Thorin could deal with his hellish nephews - he'd dealt with them before and he'd continue to do so now. They weren't the problem so much as all the other children out on the lake - who were all perfectly behaved. While Fíli and Kíli were clambering all about the little rowing boat, despite Thorin's scolding, and screeching like banshees, he could see other kids in boats sitting quietly or helping sensibly, and the looks thrown in his direction were a mixture of disparaging and sympathetic.

'Kíli, if you're quiet you can help me row,' Thorin attempted to quieten his younger nephew, who immediately shut up and looked at him with his big brown puppy eyes. He paused to wipe the sweat from his eyes - it was too hot for this, even on the water.

'What about _me_?' Fíli asked sulkily, his lips pouting and blue eyes turned balefully on him. ' _I_ want to row too.'

'You can _both_ help me row,' he said, giving in. He'd just have to hope his reflexes were quick enough to catch the oars if they fell. The boys scrambled to sit on the bench opposite and with a resigned sigh he handed them an oar each, making sure they had it tightly. Kíli's hand hardly fit completely around the wood.

Grateful for the fact they were finally quiet and not climbing around making the boat sway alarmingly, he showed them how to move the oars and gradually the boat started to move again, back the way they'd come. The boys were frowning in concentration, Kíli's tongue sticking out of his mouth, he was concentrating so hard.

The boys weren't particularly good at moving in tandem,  no matter how coordinated they were the rest of the time,  and Kíli was pulling on his oar by the time Fíli had already finished his stroke.

'You're going too fast, Fee!' he complained,  his voice sounding dangerously close to breaking into tears and Thorin was just about to soothe him when Fíli retorted angrily.

'Am not! You're just too slow!' he cried and Thorin saw Kíli's lip wobble; immediately he went into placating mode but it was too late because Kíli had thrown down his oar, Thorin only just managing to catch it before it fell into the water of the lake, and had launched himself at his brother, who also dropped his oar as he tried to stop his hair from being pulled out.

In all the kerfuffle, it was hardly surprising that none of them noticed the pedalo in front of them until the two crafts had collided, making Kíli fall from his seat and eliciting an 'oof' from the people in the pedalo.

Mortified, Thorin picked Kíli up and turned to apologise profusely to the occupants of the pedalo, but the words caught in his throat and his embarrassment increased a hundredfold when he met the eyes of the golden haired man, looking very unimpressed as he held onto the shoulder of a small boy in the seat closest to where they'd collided, who was fairly drowned by the bright orange life jacket he wore.

It was all Thorin could do not to gape, the man's curls like molten bronze in the sunlight and his cheeks pleasantly flushed with the heat. He forced himself to speak, quickly swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat.

'I - I'm so sorry,' he said, even more embarrassed to hear his voice so hoarse. 'Had no idea you were there -'

The other man looked at him, his gaze flicking to the boys, who were both looking at the bottom of the boat, shame-faced. 'I can see that,' he said dryly. 'You should watch where you're going next time.' And with that he was gone, not looking back as he and the little dark-haired boy pedalled off to another part of the lake, safe from more accidents. Thorin felt a spike of annoyance - just because his kid was a little angel and neither of them probably knew the meaning of the word fun, didn't mean he had the right to be so snotty about it all -

Upon further reflection, Thorin realised he was just jealous that that child was so well-behaved while his nephews were the spawn of the devil.

Good-hearted devil-spawn, it had to be said, as they both apologised immediately, to Thorin and each other, and spent the rest of their hour's boat ride sitting quietly holding each other's hand and letting Thorin row without incident. While Thorin's nerves was grateful for it, he found this new placidness disconcerting and he found himself worrying about what new plan they were hatching up, never mind the fact it could all simply be their way of making amends for that little disaster.

When they disembarked from the boat back at the jetty, it was safely and calmly and Thorin bought them a cold drink, though no ice cream - their behaviour on the boat previously didn't merit rewards (though he had a feeling he'd end up buying them one later anyway. He had no idea how Dís resisted their puppy-like disappointment).

He bought himself a drink, wishing it was something alcoholic but knowing that that was sure to end in embarrassment, and he sat at one of the tables while Fíli and Kíli tried to say hello to the ducks paddling at the water's edge, coaxing them out with bits of bread Thorin had remembered to bring. Kíli was leaning very close to the water and Thorin's heart was in his mouth for just a moment, but then some more ducks arrived on land and the boys' attention turned to them, easier targets than the stubborn birds in the water.

He finished off his lemonade and made to join them,  showing them how to feed the ducks from their hands, which made Fíli grin and Kíli squeal with delight, which almost scared them all away. Thorin saw a figure approach to his left and glanced over, seeing the small boy from the pedalo crouching down by where the water lapped at the bank. He too held a piece of bread,  looking over shyly at how Thorin had shown his nephews to feed them; Thorin smiled to himself and repeated the gesture. The little boy watched with fascination as Fíli and Kíli managed to feed the ducks, playing tug of war almost with the docile ducks, but suddenly he let out a little gasp as he lost his balance and went toppling towards the water.

A duck had come and investigated the bread in his hand, making him jump; Thorin immediately leapt up and drew the boy back safely onto the guano-covered grass of the bank before he fell into the water. The lad landed heavily on his rump and seemed too astonished to cry or make any sort of sound, and instead just stared at Thorin.

'Frodo!' A cry rang out from the cafe garden and the same man with golden curls came hurrying out down to the bank, rushing over to his son and pulling him close. Thorin stood back, Fíli and Kíli peeking around his legs, as he watched the man. 'Don't scare me like that again, alright?' he was whispering to the lad. 'Your mother'd kill me if anything happened to you.'

Shame. It was always the ones Thorin fancied who were taken. He tried not to feel too down; after all, the man had been incredibly rude -

'I'm sorry, Uncle Bilbo,' the boy said into the man's neck. Perhaps there was hope for him yet, then...

The man stood up, helping the boy to his feet. He only came up to Thorin's shoulder, and as his eyes met Thorin's he saw they were a rather wonderful shade of green. They widened as they met his nephew's saviour and Thorin offered a small smile.

'Thank you,' the other man said and Thorin just nodded. He sounded almost confused, as if surprised that the same man who'd crashed into their pedalo was also the same man who'd saved Frodo from falling into the lake.

'I hope you can forgive us for the incident on the lake,' Thorin said, bringing a hand to rest on his nephew's shoulders.

'Of course,' the golden-haired man said. 'Of course, it was an accident. But thank you for saving Frodo - he can't swim...' he trailed off, looking at Thorin, who looked back at him until he looked away, blushing slightly. At least, Thorin thought he was, anyway.

'I can swim,' Fíli piped up. 'I'd'a rescued you,' he said seriously to Frodo, who hid behind his uncle's leg but smiled shyly out at Fíli.

'Me too!' Kíli said loudly. 'I'd help!'

Thorin would have slunk away in embarrassment but the other man gave them a smile, a proper, open smile of genuine amusement and Thorin was lost to that smile. His cheeks had dimpled and his eyes scrunched up with happiness and Thorin was caught like a bee in honey.

'I'm sure you would,' he said to them, ruffling Frodo's curls and coaxing the boy out. 'Two brave boys like you.'

'I'm Fíli,' his older nephew said, puffing his chest out. 'This is Kíli, and my uncle Thorin.'

'I'm Bilbo,' the other man said, smiling at the boys before meeting Thorin's eye. 'Lovely to meet you.' His gaze was shy but sure as he regarded Thorin, who was utterly enamoured already. His face must have been crimson, and hot enough to fry eggs on.

'And you,' he replied, coughing to clear his suddenly dry throat. It made Bilbo smile and Thorin's stomach dropped out from beneath him and he quickly looked away before he said or did anything silly. He'd been known to do so, after all.

When Bilbo suggested buying them an ice cream as a thank you, Thorin wanted to protest, but when he ended up with Bilbo's number written on a napkin tucked safely in his pocket, with a firm invitation of "we should do this again properly sometime", he was rather glad he didn't.


	6. Guarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason Bilbo likes to sit outside of an evening, when the security guard is doing his rounds. It's most definitely _not_ his muscles of marble. (But then, it's hardly the sparkling conversation, either.)

Bilbo always loved it when the weather started to turn from chilly spring evenings to mild summer nights, when it was warm enough to sit outside as dusk fell, turning the sky the dark purple-blue of a fading bruise. He’d always sit outside in his front garden with a book, enjoying the warmth and dying light and the way the street lamps would come on just as it was beginning to get too dark for him to see the words on his page.

Gradually the lamps would turn on later and later, until he would turn in before they were even necessary - sometimes it would still be light until ten in the evening. It was calming, to sit out there with his cat wrapped around his ankles or stretched out beside him, with a good book to while away the time.

And of course he most certainly didn’t make a point of sitting out there every evening just to ogle the security guard.

He’d come walking past every evening on his rounds, a big fierce dog on a leash, checking everything was alright and there were no youths hanging around or drunks causing disturbances. There very rarely was anything to worry about, at least on Bilbo’s street, but he had no doubt that that dog did a good job of scaring anything untoward away. Just the dog plodding along next to the guard made Bilbo’s insides quiver a little; he could just imagine the terror of it turning on him with a growl. Something he was very keen to avoid, thank you very much.

The dog’s owner was rather accomplished at making Bilbo’s insides quiver, too. He wasn’t a particularly tall man but he more than made up for it in bulk - his arms were like tree-trunks and he was built like a bull. A very handsome bull, though - with his long dark hair worn tied back, a neat beard and noble features, it was no wonder Bilbo could hardly think of him without feeling a little faint. Especially when a glance in Bilbo’s direction one night had revealed surprisingly soft eyes, blue as the summer sky.

Admittedly, they were yet to share more than two words, but Bilbo didn’t let that stop him. In his mind, he would - very calmly and casually and coolly - start a conversation, get the man’s name and everything would happen then, falling into place perfectly. In reality, however, he always lost his nerve at the last moment and buried his nose in his book as the man walked past, only looking up when he had moved on and would watch his slowly disappearing back, wondering what it would feel like under his hands. He’d then blush fiercely and turn back to his book quickly, though by then his concentration was lost and all the characters would have surprisingly blue eyes and long dark hair. He’d close the book with a sigh and head back inside.

On his braver days, he would wave a little at the man, who would give a hesitating nod before hurrying on, and Bilbo’s stomach would feel like jelly for a good few hours at having had the attention of the man on him, even if just for a couple of seconds. So Bilbo carried on with his usual glance-and-hide routine, too nervous and tongue-tied to do much more. If he pretended it was because of the dog that he was scared, well, no one had to know.

It was mid-July when it changed. Once again, he was sitting outside on the bench, the smell of his flowers heavy in the dusk air, but this time his cat Frodo was sniffing around at the bottom of the garden instead of sitting by him. His book was particularly interesting - an old mystery classic by Gandalf Grey; the man was a genius - and he didn’t even notice the guard’s approach until a low growl and mutter pulled him out from the pages and back to reality.

He looked up, only to see the man stood there holding tight to his dog’s leash. The dog was growling fiercely at something and it was the man’s quiet mutter that had caught Bilbo’s attention. Yavanna, his voice was even deeper and growlier and perfect than Bilbo had imagined!

‘Dwalin,’ he was saying from between gritted teeth and Bilbo felt a shiver run up his spine at that voice. ‘Dwalin, stop it. Come away.’ The man tugged on the dog’s leash again but the dog - Dwalin - didn’t budge and carried on growling and staring at something Bilbo couldn’t see, hackles raised.

He peered down the garden nervously - that growl was fearsome and not at all as nice as his owner’s - and all of a sudden the air was rent by a loud hiss and a black ball came streaking up the garden and bounded into Bilbo’s lap, making him wince as sharp claws embedded themselves in his leg; the dog leapt at the fence and barked loudly when his plan to get after the cat was foiled by a sharp pull on his leash by the security guard. Bilbo quickly set aside his book and checked a trembling Frodo over.

When he looked up after ascertaining that Frodo was alright, he saw the guard standing tall over a very sheepish-looking dog (if dogs could look sheepish, this one certainly did) and glaring at him until the dog lay down and blinked up at the man. Then the guard turned to Bilbo, looking apologetic.

‘Is he alright?’ he called up, gaze flicking to Frodo momentarily before back to Bilbo, who had to work hard to keep from panicking at the fact he was actually talking to the man.

‘He’s fine,’ he said back, grateful he didn’t sound nervous - he wasn’t going to dwell on the fact that these were the first proper words they’d spoken to one another, because then he’d get even more anxious and no doubt spoil everything and - he took a small breath. ‘Just a little shocked, that’s all.’ He scratched Frodo’s ears gently, gathering his nerve and feeling relief when the little body stopped quivering, though the tail kept flicking angrily as blue eyes looked at him balefully.

‘I’m sorry,’ the guard offered. ‘He doesn’t usually do this.’ He glared again at the dog, who had settled his chin on his paws and looked very contrite. Now he wasn’t padding along silently next to his master, Bilbo could almost find him cute - if he weren’t so big. He’d probably be nearly as tall as Bilbo if he stood up on his hind legs.

‘It’s alright,’ Bilbo said, giving a small smile at the obviously embarrassed guard. ‘Really it is.’

The man didn’t smile back and Bilbo felt his own waver before slipping off his face and he cradled Frodo closer, standing up and picking up his book.

‘I’m sorry,’ the guard said again. Neither said anything for a while, the guard looking down at his dog while Bilbo scuffed his foot in the dirt in the suddenly awkward silence, wondering why the guard didn’t just go; eventually it was broken by the guard again. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Let me know if you see anything suspicious.’

And with that he was off, tugging Dwalin to his feet behind him as he hurried away. Bilbo watched him go, a little confused at the abruption of the man’s parting line and more than a little annoyed he hadn’t managed to get the man’s name. No matter; it wasn’t like knowing his name would make him any more interested in Bilbo. He gave a sigh and hurried inside, pottering around with Frodo soon back to his usual self - skittering around and climbing things, namely Bilbo - and he almost didn’t notice the guard walking back along his street with the dog, two blots of black against the indigo night. 

* * *

Bilbo still could never quite work up the courage to really speak to the gorgeous guard with the scary dog and a couple of weeks went by in the usual way, though more than once Bilbo would look up as the man passed only to bury his head back in his book, ears flaming, when he saw the man’s gaze already on him. The man never said anything, though, and his smile was tentative at best before he’d hurry on his way again. Bilbo was starting to despair of himself.

A few weeks later Bilbo had gone for tea with his cousins Primula and Drogo and had ended up staying longer than expected, and he couldn’t help but mourn the fact that he’d probably miss the pretty security guard’s rounds that evening. Not at all because the man seemed to have muscles of marble, of course (though it was hardly for the sparkling conversation, either).

Just to add insult to the injury it started raining on his way home and he was forced to hurry home with his jacket pulled over his head in an attempt to stave off the worst of the rain. Not only was he going to miss seeing the security guard, he was also getting rained on for his troubles. Today was just not meant to be a good day, he thought sourly.

He turned onto his street and half-ran, half-walked down towards his house, counting the steps. Visibility was so poor he could hardly see a metre in front of him; he’d just reached the Gamgees’ house a couple of doors down from him when he walked into something solid and fell to the ground, landing heavily on his rump and the bag of biscuits from Prim flying open and scattering on the rain-soaked pavement.

A large dark shape loomed up in front of him and he let out an involuntary squeak, flinching and closing his eyes as he waited for the blow -

‘Dwalin!’

His eyes snapped open at the familiar voice, humiliation quickly replacing fear. Please, say it wasn’t _him…_

‘Dwalin, stop that!’ The dark shape had resolved into the shaggy brown and black fur of the guard dog and he wasn’t at all interested in Bilbo - rather, his attention had been caught by the now-soggy biscuits and he snaffled them eagerly, not seeming to care that they were sodden. He let out a low growl as his collar was pulled on and then the security guard himself appeared, pulling the dog’s face away from Bilbo’s biscuits. Bilbo could hardly bring himself to look at the man, sitting as he was in a puddle.

He half-hoped the man would make a quick exit, but luck was not on Bilbo’s side today as instead of retreating he looked down at Bilbo and held out a hand. Mutely, Bilbo took it and quickly set about salvaging what he could of the biscuits - or what was left of them, after Dwalin had managed to eat most of them.

‘Are you alright?’ the security guard asked as Bilbo stood up again, wanting to dash past and hide in his house but good manners dictating that he at least thank the man for his help.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, hoping his breathlessness went unnoticed. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m sorry about the dog,’ the man said and Bilbo glanced at the great shaggy brute, looking up at him with pleading eyes, and couldn’t help but smile. He was giving him the same look Frodo would give him when Bilbo was preparing dinner, except he looked even more forlorn with his wet fur plastered down and a droplet dripping from his nose.

‘It’s not a problem, really,’ Bilbo told him. He forced himself to meet the other man’s eyes and immediately his heart went out to him. He looked as dejected as his dog, despite the lined anorak he was sporting. His hair and (Bilbo was rather amused to see) his beard were sodden and dripping and he stood hunched into himself, looking thoroughly miserable. Bilbo’s hand tingled from where the man’s hand had clasped his own, so warm despite the weather and so much bigger than his own.

His stomach began to flip and he took a dee breath to calm himself. As he did so the security guard gave him a funny look, as if to check he was alright.

‘You have to work even in this weather?’ he asked, feeling rain trickle down his neck most unpleasantly. The secutity guard shrugged, looking down at his feet, almost shyly.

‘It’s my job,’ he said, pulling at Dwalin’s leash as the dog began to nose at Bilbo’s bag again.

‘You’ll catch your death at this rate,’ he said firmly. ‘You and Dwalin are drenched. You… you could come and dry off until the rain stops,’ he offered, looking back at the gloor too. He could feel the other man’s sharp gaze on him. ‘have a cup of tea and…I’m sure I have some more biscuits in the house somewhere.'

The silence stretched on for so long that Bilbo grew steadily more embarrassed and was just about to tell him to forget he’d ever asked and run and hide in the house when the other man spoke.

‘That would be lovely,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you.’ Bilbo looked up so sharply he almost cricked his neck, only to be greeted by a small, sweet, if a little damp, smile that took his breath away. He returned it brightly, his stomach leaping at the look on the man’s face. He took another deep breath and turned to his house, leading the guard and his dog up his garden path and opening the door for them.

The man hesitated on the threshold and Bilbo felt a momentary panic. He wasn’t backing out now, was he?

‘What shall I do about Dwalin?’ he asked, gesturing at the large dog looking around curiously. ‘Last time, he didn’t get on so well with the cat.’

‘He’ll be fine, if you keep him close,’ Bilbo said. ‘Frodo will just keep out of the way.’ Wise animal, Bilbo thought as Dwalin padded inside next to his owner. The dog was massive.

And it was really rather a sorry state of affairs that Bilbo knew the man’s dog’s name but was still referring to said man as ‘him’. He was going to have to rectify that very soon, he thought as he took _his_ coat. But not before he had some liquid courage in him; promptly he hurried to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Tea would make everything better.

He watched his guest out of the corner of his eye for some time while he waited for the kettle to boil, watching him look around his house with Dwalin sniffing around intently. No doubt he could smell Frodo everywhere, tantalisingly close, but the cat had sense and was hiding somewhere.

When the kettle had finished he quickly poured it onto the teabags and asked the man how he took his tea, trying to ignore the cartwheels his stomach was performing. The man sat at the table and Bilbo set the mug down in front of him, taking the seat opposite. Neither of them spoke for a while, simply enjoying the warmth of the tea in their cupped hands after the chill from outside; after a little while Bilbo began to get jumpy and had to force himself to stay still.

‘Thank you,’ the man said and Bilbo smiled, warmth blossoming in his chest when his guest returned it.

‘It’s no trouble,’ Bilbo said. ‘It’s not all that often I get company, really, besides Frodo and a cat’s only so good - you can’t hold a conversation with them so it’s really rather nice to have someone else to -’ He cut himself off when he realised he was rambling, and blushed at the small curve of a smile on the man’s lips. It was such a nice smile. ‘I’ll just get those biscuits,’ he peeped and hurried to the kitchen to hide his flaming cheeks. He had to go and embarrass himself like that, didn’t he? Now the man probably though he was desperate - the fact he rather was was irrelevant - and was probably going to escape at the first opportunity. He sighed heavily and turned to the cupboard and pulled out a packet of chocolate biscuits; he pulled a few out onto a plate and paused before shrugging and emptying it out. If they were going to have biscuits, they might as well have all the biscuits.

He took them back to the table, relieved the man hadn’t made a run for it (he wouldn’t have blamed him if he had) and sat down again.

As the man reached for a biscuit he stopped and pulled his hand back, looking at Bilbo directly and making his stomach squirm at the scrutiny. He was even more gorgeous close up, Bilbo thought, especially with his hair so ruffled from drying...

‘I’ve been incredibly rude,’ the man was saying and Bilbo pulled himself from his thoughts, just in time to catch what he said. ‘I can’t take your biscuits when you don’t even know my name, nor I yours.’ He looked at Bilbo for a moment and then inclined his head. ‘Thorin Durin, at your service.’

Bilbo just about managed to reply the required words, his tongue feeling heavy and unyielding in his mouth with nerves. Finally, he knew the man’s name! Thorin. _Thorin._

The time passed companionably as they finished their drinks and it was only when Thorin - Bilbo got shivers down his spine when he thought it, let alone shaping his tongue around the word - saw his watch that he realised he had to go. Bilbo struggled to hide his disappointment but he fetched Thorin’s coat and said goodbye to Dwalin without flinching away from the huge dog.

‘Thank you,’ Thorin said to him as he prepared to step out again into the evening - mercifully it had stopped raining, and Bilbo could smell the damp earth outside.

‘It was my pleasure,’ Bilbo said, breathless with nerves and pink as he realised how true those words were. Thorin was gruff but, Bilbo had come to realise even from the short time they’d sat and chatted over tea, he was far from the grumpy persona he exuded.

Thorin looked like he wanted to say something else and his mouth even opened to say it, but at the last minute he snapped his jaw shut and turned away. His eyes were guarded when he turned back to Bilbo and his final parting was brisk; Bilbo watched them walk off into the night with his exultation rapidly deflating in the face of that almost-sharp goodbye.

He closed the door and started to get ready for bed, calling for Frodo only to find the cat sitting in the airing cupboard glaring haughtily down at him and refusing to come down. With a sigh Bilbo left the stubborn animal there and went to bed. 

* * *

As dusk fell the next evening, mercifully less rainy than the day before, Bilbo’s stomach began to prickle with apprehension. Would Thorin stop to chat, or would it be back to their nod-and-wave routine? Bilbo desperately hoped it would be the former, and he took out a plate of butter biscuits so that he could give one to Dwalin. Vaguely he thought that they couldn’t be doing the dog any good, but then Frodo would always try and snaffle his cake and it didn’t do him any harm...

He took his usual space on the bench and sat with his book, though he made very little progress, he spent so much time looking up to see if Thorin was close.

He gave himself a bit of a shock when he heard dog paws padding alongside heavy footfalls and looked up eagerly, only to be greeted by the sight of someone who was definitely _not_ Thorin.

This security guard was, if possible, even more muscled than Thorin, and bald on the top of his head. He was also covered in tattoos, if his bare forearms where his sleeves had been rolled up were any indication. All in all, he was not what Bilbo had been expecting at _all_ and he let out a shocked squeak, making the dog at his side look up sharply and strain at his leash.

‘Thorin, stop that,’ the guard muttered as he pulled back on the lead, placing a hand on the dog’s head. Bilbo realised he was gaping and quickly shut his mouth. The guard looked at him in concern. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I... Yes, I’m fine,’ Bilbo managed to get out eventually.

‘You look a bit spooked,’ the security guard said; how could Bilbo explain that he’d been expecting his rather gorgeous security guard crush and instead had got...him. Who was rather scary, all things considered.

‘I just...hadn’t realised you were there, that’s all,’ Bilbo said weakly. The other guard gave a small smile - or at least, Bilbo thought he smiled because his beard gave a twitch.

‘S’ not often we’re accused of being too quiet, eh, Thorin?’ he glanced down at the dog and seemed to sigh when he didn’t answer. ‘Well, I’ll be off then. Good evening,’ he looked back at Bilbo with a nod but before he’d taken a step Bilbo surged to his feet.

‘Wait!’ he called out. ‘Your...your dog,’ he said, joining them at his fence. He peered at this Thorin warily.

‘There’s no need to be scared of ‘im,’ the guard said. ‘‘E’s a right softie. We’d be in trouble if we ever did need to apprehend anyone because Thorin here would rather have his fur brushed than stop layabouts and whatnot.’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said with a tight smile. ‘It’s a....lovely name.’

‘What, Thorin?’ the guard gave a snort. ‘It’s a joke back at the office. There’s another guard called Thorin - you might know ‘im, usually does his rounds here - and he called _his_ dog Dwalin - that’s my name - so I called this old thing after him.’ And he gave a pleased smile at Bilbo, as if proud of this fact. Bilbo looked again at the dog, sitting quietly beside the guard, and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile.

‘Yes, that’s why I was, ah, surprised to see you,’ Bilbo said, doing his best to sound nonchalant about it all. ‘I’m used to seeing, uh, Thorin’ - he said it as if the name was completely unfamiliar and he hadn’t said it to himself over and over - ‘when he does his rounds. Is there a...reason?’ He coughed loudly and avoided Dwalin’s piercing look. He wasn’t an actor for a reason!

‘Not really,’ Dwalin said. ‘Just said he wanted a change of route for a while.’

‘Oh,’ Bilbo said, stomach dropping out and hitting the floor. ‘Oh. Well. That’s... Thank you,’ he said and turned up the path. ‘Good evening...’ he managed, manners kicking in even while he felt cold all over. He had just about enough wits left to remember to bring in his book and the plate of biscuits and shut the door firmly behind him. Numbly he headed to his bed and flopped down, staring up at the ceiling.

Thorin had changed his rounds. The day after he’d spent any significant amount if time with Bilbo. Bilbo remembered the brusque goodbye and the _something_ he’d seen in his eyes before he turned and hurried away. His insides were quivering and he closed his eyes, determined not to think of it.

He failed. 

* * *

A week went by and still Dwalin was a regular sight in the evenings. He wasn’t who Bilbo _wanted_ to see but after Dwalin’s first week Bilbo had had more conversations with him than all his months with Thorin. After his second week, Bilbo had started sharing biscuits with the man - he was amused to see that he was as fond of baked goods as his dog counterpart was - and soon he’d even say they were nearly friends. The quivering hurt he’d felt after Thorin’s abrupt departure eased and he felt only resigned. One day, he’d meet his dark handsome stranger; he’d thought it was Thorin but evidently not.

Instead he enjoyed his evening chats with Dwalin and as evenings started to draw in earlier he would sometimes work in the flowerbeds, when it wasn’t as hot as during the day. Sometimes Frodo would potter around beside him, keeping him company and encouraging him while he lay about and lazily flicked his tail.

One evening he was weeding his hydrangea when he heard the familiar sound of Dwalin heading down the road. His back was to the street as he bent over his flowers.

‘What are you doing?’ a voice asked behind him and he flew upwards in shock, smashing his head against the windowsill painfully. He clapped his hands to it gingerly as he turned and stood to look at the newcomer. They stared at each other for a few moments before Bilbo finally managed to say something, but the blow must have knocked out his internal filter.

‘You’re not Dwalin,’ he said, flushing as he stated the obvious.

Thorin scowled and Bilbo felt his stomach performing strange and dangerous acrobatics. Hurriedly he tried to repair the damage and pulled off his gardening gloves, heading slowly to the fence where Thorin stood with dog-Dwalin by his side. Internally Bilbo bemoaned the fact he was covered in mud; he saw Thorin swallow as he approached and had to make sure he didn’t watch that Adam’s apple too closely, even if it was rather impressive.

‘You’re, erm, you’re back,’ Bilbo said and Thorin looked at the floor, scuffing it with his toe. Dwalin was watching Bilbo closely and Bilbo tried to ignore it - his stomach was flipping enough just at the first sight of Thorin; he didn’t need extra stress from the dog, thank you very much. Just looking at Thorin made the crush he’d so carefully tried to repress come flooding back in an instant and he was so nervous he thought he might be sick.

‘I am,’ Thorin agreed and Bilbo silently cursed. Again with stating the obvious. He sighed, and Thorin looked up sharply.

Bilbo searched for something to say, but Thorin’s piercing blue eyes made him quite speechless. Thorin too looked as if he was going to say something but hesitated before clamping his jaw shut again. Bilbo swallowed thickly and looked down at his gardening gloves, twisted up and starting to go damp in his sweaty hands. He stuffed them behind his back so Thorin wouldn’t see.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ he eventually managed to say.

‘No,’ Thorin said. ‘Thank you,’ he hastily added. Bilbo felt a stone form and sit heavily in his stomach.

‘Oh. Alright.’

Thorin winced and Bilbo looked at him in confusion.

‘Look...Bilbo, I... I wanted to tell you something, but I’m... I’m not very good with words,’ Thorin said, giving a nervous cough and still avoiding Bilbo’s eye. Bilbo watched him warily. Thorin glanced at him and then away again, letting out a deep breath. ‘Right. I... The only way I can say it is...’ He trailed off, squared his shoulders and looked Bilbo in the eye. They stared at each other for a heartbeat before Thorin promptly leaned over the fence and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s.

Frozen with shock, Bilbo didn’t have time to react before Thorin pulled away. The other man was flushing a furious red and stuttering out an apology or something - Bilbo’s ears were too full of a roaring to hear exactly what he was saying - but before he could leave Bilbo grabbed his arm and pulled him down far enough to kiss him back; this time it was Thorin who had gone still with shock but he was quicker to react than Bilbo had been and he was soon returning it with equal fervour.

When they broke apart Bilbo’s heart was pounding fit to burst and stomach had dropped and swooped right out of him. Thorin was a delicious shade of pink and when he licked his lips nervously Bilbo couldn’t help but watch the movement closely.

‘Well,’ Thorin said, smiling and his eyes crinkling up. ‘I think I’d better take you up on your offer of tea.’


	7. Excuse me, sir...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not that Thorin is uncharitable, he simply doesn't like being accosted by chuggers on his way to work every morning.
> 
> Until one with bronze curls and an arresting smile going by the name of Bilbo Baggins attempts to part him with his money for the greater good, and Thorin can't get rid of it fast enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I HAD INSPIRATION
> 
> I'M BACK GUYS, I'M BACK
> 
> I'm so sorry I've been absent for so long but my first term of uni has been absolutely MAD (so much fun though, and that's partly why I've not written anything for about two months...oops) but I'm back now and I have a plan for a BoFA fix-it/Christmas fluff story! (Because BoFA is heart-breaking and painful and while I acknowledge its faults all I can say is RICHARD ARMITAGE UGH THAT MAN :'( <3 <3 <3 )
> 
> Also I apologise if it's OOC at all, I'm just... traumatised by BoFA and out of practice writing Bagginshield :/ Please forgive me if so!! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Hopefully it won't be so long until I next post something :')

The daily commute to work was hell for Thorin. Working in the centre of the city meant cars or private transport was completely out of the question, meaning he still had to navigate the heaving streets from the tube station to his work. The mass of humanity all making their way to whatever mundane job they had to do, so self-absorbed that toes were trodden on or bags would hit passers-by.

It was no wonder Thorin was always in a foul mood in the morning.

Today was no different and he did his best to navigate the busy street, side-stepping around slower walkers and avoiding the unruly briefcases of the others. He was nearly there; once he got to work he'd be able to calm down with a quick coffee before getting down to work.

But the sight of the last stretch of street before his building made him groan, and he made no move to hide his irritation. There lining the street, with their buckets rattling irritatingly and annoying shouts, stood four or five people in bright blue shirts with clipboards clutched to their chests.

Suppressing another sigh Thorin grit his teeth and set off, keeping close to the road so the chuggers couldn't get to him. He avoided even glancing at them, just in case one of them took it as an invitation to try and wheedle his money from him.

To his relief he made it to his building without being accosted and quickly hurried up, ready to start the day. As he settled in at his desk, however he noticed Dwalin, who sat opposite him, wasn't there. His bag wasn't there and there was no jacket draped over the chair, so he evidently hadn't arrived yet; Thorin found it odd, seeing as Dwalin was usually early and had often teased him for his poor punctuality before. Thorin didn't think too much of it, however, and merely resolved to poke his friend about it later.

Half an hour later, Dwalin turned up looking red-faced and rather flustered. He said nothing as he slumped into his seat and rested his face in his hands. Slightly alarmed, Thorin stopped what he was doing and stared at his friend.

“Are you alright?” he asked, not sure what to make of this behaviour from his usually boisterous friend.

“I’m fine,” Dwalin said, not meeting Thorin’s gaze. Thorin just looked at him, disbelieving. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Dwalin grumbled, his habitual scowl appearing back on his face.

“I don’t think you’ve got much choice,” Thorin said as Dwalin moved to take off his jacket and settle in for work. “Whatever happened, it’s got you in a twist.”

Dwalin gave a growl of a huff and Thorin knew he was getting somewhere; sure enough a minute later Dwalin spoke again, mumbling down at his desk. “I got stopped.”

“By the police?” Thorin immediately jumped to the worst case scenario, wondering what on earth Dwalin could have done at ten o’clock on a Monday morning.

“Not by the police,” Dwalin said. “Worse.”

What could be worse than being stopped by the police? Thorin wondered at it before remembering his hellish journey into work.

“You mean the chuggers? They got you?” He couldn’t stop the grin that split across his face then at the thought of tough, rough Dwalin being stopped and talked into giving money.

“Aye,” Dwalin said, though judging by the way he ducked his head and his cheeks were particularly red, there was more to it than that. When Dwalin eventually told him, it was all he could do not to laugh. Instead Thorin did his best to keep a straight face, though his lips twitched.

“You thought the chugger was cute.”

“He was,” Dwalin said defensively, glaring at Thorin as if daring him to disagree. Thorin lifted his hands in a placating manner as he returned to his work, his smile refusing to be subdued any longer.

“If you say he was, I’m sure he was simply angelic,” Thorin said, not looking at his friend. “Though you know he only wanted your money?” he added.

Dwalin gave an unimpressed growl of irritation and Thorin ducked his head to (unsuccessfully) hide his laughter.

 

***

 

On his way home after work, as Thorin once more braved the mass of people headed homewards, he noticed the charity volunteers were still out, valiantly trying to coax people to stop and donate. It wasn’t that Thorin didn’t _want_ to give money, he just didn’t want to give money right _then._ Not after a long day at work, and not before when he was still half asleep. 

As he made sure to avoid them, he cast a couple of the people in bright blue shirts sidelong glances, trying to determine which could be the one who had so enamoured Dwalin. One of them was sporting a rather ridiculous hat, another a tall elegant looking woman with long dark hair; there was a short woman with curly hair, a young-looking lad with knitted scarves and jumpers underneath his blue charity shirt and all Thorin could make out of the last one was a head of bronze curls. But then the one with the penchant for knitted clothing turned around for a moment and Thorin saw his freckled face and he knew _he_ was the one who’d got Dwalin so flustered; his friend had always been a secret softie. He’d never let Dwalin hear the end of this.

 

***

 

The next day at work passed much the same as the previous one, and end of hours couldn’t come soon enough. Thorin had had a long and boring meeting with his manager and was all too glad to be on his way home; his relief was short-lived, however. 

“Excuse me sir, but could you –”

“No I couldn’t,” Thorin replied angrily, pushing past the man with the ridiculous hat that he’d been too preoccupied to notice. He stifled a groan as he realised he was now going to be accosted in the name of charity and earn himself a reputation as a miser when he didn’t give in. He kept his eyes down as he passed the tall woman and managed to successfully evade Dwalin’s crush, but then someone stopped right in front of him and he pulled up with a start, looking up to meet a pair of warm brown eyes in a face surrounded by bronze curls.

 _Well damn,_ was Thorin’s first thought; he had no second thoughts as his entire brain functionality was swept away by the man in a blue shirt currently standing before him with a clipboard at the ready.

“Excuse me sir, but would you consider signing up to support children in need?”

Normally Thorin would have said no and pushed on past. Normally he’d have ignored them and carried on his way. But to his utter surprise he found himself saying _yes._

The grin that spread across the volunteer’s face was worth it though, and Thorin felt his entire body go warm and his chest tingle at the smile directed right at him.

“Wonderful! Your money would be helping disadvantaged children…” the man began and Thorin nodded along with him but he wasn’t following a single word he said, too focused on the exact colour of the man’s eyes, or the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled. He shook himself and cringed when he realised the man had trailed off with an uncertain laugh, looking up at Thorin uncertainly.

“Sorry,” Thorin said, coughing to hide his embarrassment. “What did you say?”

The man smiled again. “Would you fill out your contact details, please?” He handed him the clipboard and Thorin took it as if in a trance, filling out his details mindlessly; he handed it back and the smiling man checked them over quickly, beaming up at Thorin. (The top of his head just about reached Thorin’s shoulder, he was too cute and that _smile_ – Thorin was lost.)

“That’s perfect, thank you,” he said cheerfully. “Someone will ring you later to sort out payments and other details, if that’s alright.”

“Yes,” Thorin said. “That’ll be perfect.” He couldn’t lift his eyes off the man’s smile, his eyes, his ears that poked through those unruly curls…

And then the man was thanking him and bidding him goodbye (saying his _name!_ ) and Thorin had to move along, returning the sentiment and walking off as if in a daze. He was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice the sound of someone calling his name behind him and he started at the touch of a warm hand on his arm.

“Thorin! Thorin?”

He turned quickly and found himself looking into the sheepish but determined face of the volunteer. Thorin saw him swallow thickly and his eyes followed the movement_ unconsciously; as he did so he noticed the man’s name badge.

_Bilbo Baggins._

His gaze flicked back up to the man’s – _Bilbo’s_! – face again as he started speaking before stopping shyly, looking down at his feet for a moment.

“I was wondering if you’d give me your number under different circumstances,” he blurted out in a rush and Thorin felt strangely warm again as Bilbo blushed a fierce crimson. Thorin was speechless for a good for moments, his tongue refusing to cooperate with him as he tried to formulate an answer. He must have taken too long, however, as Bilbo’s blush darkened even further and he shuffled uncomfortably, his hand reaching into his pocket defensively.”l’m sorry,” he muttered, barely audible over the rush hour din. L shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry-“

“Yes,” was all Thorn could muster and he said it before he could stop and think about it, effectively cutting off Bilbo’s apology. “The answer is yes,” he continued gruffly, his gaze meeting Bilbo’s. “I think I’d very much like that.”’

Bilbo’s face was suddenly lit up by a smile almost as bright as the sun and Thorin couldn’t help but return it.

“Good,” was all he said. “I’d like that too.” And then he was tearing off a corner of the paper on his clipboard and scribbling a name and a number onto it before handing it to Thorin, his smile almost nervous. Thorin tucked it away safely in his jacket pocket, scarcely daring to believe that had just happened.

“Is this usual protocol?” he asked lightly, reluctant to end the moment for fear he’d realise it had all been imaginary.

Bilbo’s smile widened just a fraction and he blushed again, the tips of his ears going bright pink. “Not usually,” he admitted, and when he looked back up at Thorin his gaze was a little coy. “Though we do make exceptions.”

Thorin could lose himself in the depths of those warm eyes. He needed to keep it together, before he scared Bilbo off by acting so moonstruck.

“Well then,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back; his face was beginning to ache from smiling so much but he simply couldn’t stop.

“I’ll call you soon,” Bilbo returned, his own face still pink and smile endearingly shy, though there was a definite gleam in his eye.

“I look forward to it,” Thorin said, though he made no move to leave. It was only when one of the other volunteers yelled Bilbo’s name and told him to stop slacking with barely concealed mirth that they both started and jumped apart, Thorin’s face uncomfortably warm but his stomach tingling in pleasant anticipation.

His gaze locked with Bilbo’s and they smiled at each other again, a definite promise in the curve of Bilbo’s lips, and Thorin nodded and moved away; neither broke eye contact until the space between them was filled with impatient commuters and Thorin lost sight of Bilbo’s bronze unruly curls.

He turned back towards the station, his smile refusing to leave as he entered Bilbo’s number into his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Ahahaa unapologetic fluff, I have no regrets.


End file.
